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William F. Harrah:

My Recollections of the
Hotel-Casino Industry, and as an
Auto Collecting Enthusiast

Interviewee: William Fisk Harrah
Interviewed: 1977-1978
Published: 1980
Interviewer: Mary Ellen Glass
UNOHP Catalog #083

Description

William Fisk Harrah was a native of California, born in 1911. He grew up and received his education in southern
California, where his father was an attorney and politician. During his college years, William Harrah and his family
encountered in their various enterprises the problems related to the Depression. John Harrah suffered some reverses
in business affairs, and at the same time the “games of chance” establishments that the father and son operated in
Venice underwent law enforcement disturbances that ultimately led to their coming to Nevada, where gambling
was legal.

In Reno in the 1930s, William Harrah found a congenial climate for his business talents, establishing bingo parlors,
bars, and finally a gambling casino. The casinos grew from one in Reno to two with the expansion into South Tahoe,
with hotels a natural extension. All of these ventures proved successful under Harrah’s perfectionist management.
Within a relatively short time, William Harrah became a wealthy and respected gambling entrepreneur.

Another logical feature for the casinos and hotels came with elaborate stage shows and a “star” system unmatched in
Nevada. The most famous figures of the entertainment world played at Harrah’s both at Reno and Tahoe. Everywhere,
patrons and prospective patrons heard about flawless service in restaurants, casinos, and showrooms operated by
Harrah’s. By the 1970s, when Nevada legalized corporate structure for casinos, the Harrah conglomerate was ready;
trading in the company stock proved attractive from the beginning, with William Harrah retaining control of the
management and operation.

Concurrent with the developments in gambling, Harrah expanded his longtime interest in automobiles into a
consuming hobby that evolved into a world-famous automotive museum. Confessedly “goofy over cars,” Harrah
spent increasing amounts of time and money in developing his collection and the museum, but not merely as a
wealthy collector. He exercised his interest by attending sales, shows, races, and rallies all over the world. As a result,
Harrah’s Automobile Collection shows the wide-ranging appreciation of its owner for nearly anything connected
with his avocation.

This oral history contains Harrah’s recollections of his childhood and youth in California, his early business ventures
there, and the years of growth in Reno and Tahoe. It also reveals the consuming love for the automobiles that built
William Harrah’s distinguished collection. There are also discussions on Harrah’s property acquisitions in Idaho,

(Continued on next page.)

Description (continued)

his Middle Fork Lodge, and vacations which got him away from the gambling business. Notes on the Harrah family
and a philosophical conclusion complete the volumes.

This oral history of William F. Harrah provides readers with a rare opportunity to be exposed to the unique and
demanding Harrah style and to see how it was developed and implemented over the five decades that he was involved
with the management of gambling and gaming operations.

William F. Harrah:

My Recollections of the
Hotel-Casino Industry, and as an
Auto Collecting Enthusiast

William F. Harrah:

My Recollections of the
Hotel-Casino Industry, and as an
Auto Collecting Enthusiast

We gratefully acknowledge the assistance of
Leon Mandel in preparation of this script.

An Oral History Conducted by Mary Ellen Glass

University of Nevada Oral History Program

University of Nevada Oral History Program
Mail Stop 0324
Reno, Nevada 89557
unohp @unr. edu
http: / / www. unr. edu/ oralhistory

Publication Staff:
Director: Mary Ellen Glass

University of Nevada Oral History Program Use Policy

All UNOHP interviews are copyrighted materials. They may be downloaded and/or
printed for personal reference and educational use, but not republished or sold. Under
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UNOHP permission as long as the use is non-commercial and materials are properly
cited. The citation should include the title of the work, the name of the person or
people interviewed, the date of publication or production, and the fact that the work
was published or produced by the University of Nevada Oral History Program (and
collaborating institutions, when applicable). Requests for permission to quote for other
publication, or to use any photos found within the transcripts, should be addressed
to the UNOHP, Mail Stop 0324, University of Nevada, Reno, Reno, NV 89557-0324.
Original recordings of most UNOHP interviews are available for research purposes
upon request.

Contents

Preface to the Digital Edition ix

Introduction xi

Special Introduction by Professor William R. Eadington xiii

1. Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences 1

2. Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946 29

Memory Sketches of Some Early-Day Employees
Wartime Interlude and the Blackout Bar

3. From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc. 1946-1978 59

Regulation, Taxes, and Law Enforcement
Unions

Day to Day Operation

Players and Other Competitors in Reno

Harrah’s Hotel, Reno

View from the Executive Suite

4. Harrah’s Tahoe 131

Stars at Tahoe

Government and Other Problems at Tahoe

5. Adventures in Idaho

159

William F. Harrah

viii

6. A Love Affair with Automobiles 179

Some Car Builders
Memory Sketches

Observations on Modern Auto Manufacturing
“Goofy Over Cars”

7. The Collector of Antique Cars 225

The Pony Express Museum
Building a Collection
Accessories and Parts
The Around the World Thomas Flyer
Reading About Cars

Some Automobile Museums in the U.S.A.

European Collections
Dream of a New Museum
Car Clubs

Rallyes and Tours on the Automobile Circuit
Race Cars and Drivers

8. Some Thoughts on Civic Affairs 309

9. My Family and Some Thoughts about My Life 313

Original Index: For Reference Only

323

Preface to the Digital Edition

Established in 1964, the University of
Nevada Oral History Program (UNOHP)
explores the remembered past through
rigorous oral history interviewing, creating a
record for present and future researchers. The
programs collection of primary source oral
histories is an important body of information
about significant events, people, places,
and activities in twentieth and twenty-first
century Nevada and the West.

The UNOHP wishes to make the
information in its oral histories accessible
to a broad range of patrons. To achieve
this goal, its transcripts must speak with
an intelligible voice. However, no type font
contains symbols for physical gestures and
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of verbal communication. When human
speech is represented in print, stripped of
these signals, the result can be a morass of
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sentences—totally verbatim transcripts
sometimes verge on incoherence. Therefore,
this transcript has been lightly edited.

While taking great pains not to alter
meaning in any way, the editor may have
removed false starts, redundancies, and the
“uhs,” “ahs,” and other noises with which
speech is often liberally sprinkled; compressed
some passages which, in unaltered form,
misrepresent the chroniclers meaning; and
relocated some material to place information
in its intended context. Laughter is represented
with [laughter] at the end of a sentence in
which it occurs, and ellipses are used to
indicate that a statement has been interrupted
or is incomplete.. .or that there is a pause for
dramatic effect.

As with all of our oral histories, while
we can vouch for the authenticity of the
interviews in the UNOHP collection, we
advise readers to keep in mind that these are
remembered pasts, and we do not claim that
the recollections are entirely free of error.
We can state, however, that the transcripts
accurately reflect the oral history recordings
on which they were based. Accordingly, each
transcript should be approached with the

William F. Harrah

same prudence that the intelligent reader
exercises when consulting government
records, newspaper accounts, diaries, and
other sources of historical information.
All statements made here constitute the
remembrance or opinions of the individuals
who were interviewed, and not the opinions
of the UNOHP.

In order to standardize the design of all
UNOHP transcripts for the online database,
most have been reformatted, a process that
was completed in 2012. This document may
therefore differ in appearance and pagination
from earlier printed versions. Rather than
compile entirely new indexes for each volume,
the UNOHP has made each transcript fully
searchable electronically. If a previous version
of this volume existed, its original index has
been appended to this document for reference
only. A link to the entire catalog can be found
online at http://oralhistory.unr.edu/.

For more information on the UNOHP
or any of its publications, please contact the
University of Nevada Oral History Program at
Mail Stop 0324, University of Nevada, Reno,
NV, 89557-0324 or by calling 775/784-6932.

Alicia Barber
Director, UNOHP
July 2012

Introduction

William Fisk Harrah was a native
of California, born in 1911. He grew up
and received his education in southern
California, where his father was an attorney
and politician. During his college years,
William Harrah and his family encountered
in their various enterprises the problems
related to the Depression. John Harrah
suffered some reverses in business affairs,
and at the same time the “games of chance”
entertainment establishments that the father
and son operated in Venice underwent law
enforcement disturbances that led to their
abandoning southern California for Nevada,
where gambling was legal.

In Reno in the 1930s, William Harrah
found a congenial climate for his business
talents, establishing Bingo parlors, bars,
and finally a gambling casino. Ah of these
ventures proved successful under Harrah’s
perfectionist management. Within a
relatively short time, William Harrah
became a wealthy and respected gambling
entrepreneur. The casinos grew from one in
Reno to two with the expansion into South

Tahoe, with hotels a natural extension.
Another logical feature for the casinos and
hotels came with elaborate stage shows and
a “star” system unmatched in Nevada. The
most famous figures of the entertainment
world played at Harrah’s both at Reno and at
Tahoe. Everywhere, patrons and prospective
patrons heard about flawless service in
restaurants, casinos, and showrooms
operated by Harrah’s. By the 1970s, when
Nevada legalized corporate structure for
casinos, the Harrah conglomerate was
ready; trading in the company stock proved
attractive from the beginning, with William
Harrah retaining control of the management
and operation.

Concurrent with the developments in
gambling, Harrah expanded his long-time
interest in automobiles into a consuming
hobby that evolved into a world-famous
automotive museum. Confessedly “goofy
over cars,” the gambling chieftain spent
increasing amounts of time and money in
developing his collection and the museum,
but not merely as a wealthy collector. He

William F. Harrah

xii

exercised his interest by attending sales,
shows, races, and rallyes all over the world.
As a result, Harrah’s Automobile Collection
shows the wide-ranging appreciation of its
owner for nearly anything connected with
his avocation.

When invited to participate in the Oral
History Project, William Harrah accepted
graciously. He was a generous and good-
humored chronicler of his life through fifteen
recording sessions, all held in his office in
the First National Bank Building in Reno,
from December 6, 1977 to June 7, 1978. The
oral history contains Harrah’s recollections
of his childhood and youth in California, of
his early business ventures there, and of the
years of growth in Reno and Tahoe. The oral
history also reveals the consuming love for
the automobile that built his distinguished
collection. Notes on the Harrah family
and a philosophical conclusion complete
the volumes. Within only weeks after the
finish of the taping session, William Harrah
died following surgery. The oral history
was reviewed by Mrs. Verna Harrah, who
provided some corrections but no changes
in the text. We gratefully acknowledge Mrs.
Harrah’s contribution to this work.

Dr. William Eadington’s introduction
to the oral history provides a scholar’s
assessment of its value as a research
document.

The Oral History Project of the University
of Nevada-Reno Library records the past
and present for future research by taping
the reminiscences of people who have been
important witnesses to the development
of Nevada and the West. The resulting
transcripts are deposited in the Special
Collections departments of the University
Libraries at Reno and Las Vegas, where they
are available for research. Mrs. Harrah has
acceded to Mr. Harrah’s wishes in designating

this oral history as open for research, and has
generously donated the literary rights in the
volume to the University of Nevada.

Mary Ellen Glass
University of Nevada-Reno
1980

Special Introduction

William Fisk Harrah was a very private
man. However, he had greater impact upon
the development of the casino gaming
industry in northern Nevada and, indeed,
in Nevada, than any other single individual.
His company, Harrah’s, has long been
acknowledged to be one of the most profitable
and best run in the casino gaming industry. It
has also set a style for the quality and integrity
of operations for casinos as well as for food
service, entertainment, and hotel services that
has been copied throughout the State and in
Atlantic City.

The operations of the Harrah’s casinos
at Reno and Lake Tahoe were tremendously
influenced by William Harrah’s values and
beliefs of sound management practices.
The following statement made in 1974 by
the former Vice President of Finance for
Harrah’s might just as well describe the
management beliefs of William Harrah.
“[Harrah’s] management style could be
characterized as highly centralized and detail
oriented. Management is oriented toward
perfection in even the slightest detail, and the

company emphasis is on quality, courtesy and
friendliness and, of course, absolute honesty. 1

This oral history of William F. Harrah
provides a rare opportunity to be exposed to
the unique and demanding Harrah style and
to see it develop and be implemented over
the five decades Harrah was involved with
the management of gambling and gaming
operations. Harrah’s first experience with
running a gambling operation was helping his
father run a “Circle Game,” a variant of Bingo,
in Venice, California, in the early 1930s. His
father, who was an attorney, a former mayor
of Venice, and a successful businessman
in finance and real estate, lost much of his
wealth following the stock market crash of
1929. He then opened the Circle Game on
the boardwalk in Venice, and recruited his
son William, a student at UCLA, to help him
run the game. Although the younger Harrah
admired his father’s intelligence and business
skills, the greatest business lessons from his
father were negative. Harrah felt his father
did not understand the needs or feelings of
customers, and disagreed with his father on

XIV

William F. Harrah

attempts to save a few dollars when it implied
discomfort for the customers. The younger
Harrah also felt a gambling operation should
have both the appearance and the reality of
totally honest games. Therefore, when he
bought his father out of the Circle Game in
1933 for five hundred dollars, he immediately
put in new, more comfortable stools for the
customers, improved the appearance of
the parlor, and fired all the shills who had
been employed to give the appearance there
was a lot of action, but who in reality made
legitimate customers question the honesty of
the game.

Under William Harrah’s direction, the
Circle Game was quite successful; however,
because Venice was part of the city of Los
Angeles, the game was also illegal. For the
tour years that Harrah ran the Circle Game,
there was a continuing pattern of running the
game, getting closed down by the authorities,
changing the game slightly and reopening it,
and then running it again until the next time
the authorities clamped down.

Harrah visited Reno in 1937 and was
impressed by the legal and unharrassed
status of gambling in Nevada. When he
was given the opportunity to buy a Bingo
parlor in Reno, he took it, and opened his
first parlor in Reno in the fall of 1937. Over
the next decade, he expanded and bought
out a number of competitors, and learned a
number of important lessons about the nature
of the gambling business. First on the list was
location. A good operation in a bad location
will always have to struggle. Second was
the importance of other diversions besides
gambling. At one time, when he operated
Bingo parlors on both sides of Harolds Club,
he convinced Pappy Smith, the owner of
Harolds Club, of the wisdom of cutting a door
between the casino and Harrah’s Bingo parlor.
This allowed drinks to be served in the Bingo

parlors, and players to wander freely between
the slots and table games of the casinos
and the Bingo parlor, helping the business
of both places. Third was the difficulty of
making decisions when dealing with partners.
Harrah had entered into a partnership when
he purchased a Reno bar during World War
II, but the business did not tare well because
the partners could not agree on important
decisions. This is probably an important
reason why Harrah’s, until it became a publicly
traded corporation in 1971, was owned solely
by William F. Harrah.

Harrah opened his first casino in Reno in
1946 and, after a shaky beginning, the casino
performed quite well. This allowed Harrah
to do some additional experimentation. He
found that entertainment in a casino could
be valuable for a number of reasons. It would
give people a feeling they were somewhere
special, and give them an excuse for visiting
a casino. It would also give management
something to promote in their advertising
besides gambling, and thus market Harrah’s
in states where gambling was illegal without
having to refer to gambling. Harrah also
coined the term “gaming” to try to overcome
the negative connotations which were often
associated with gambling.

Over the years, the policies distinguishing
Harrah’s in the gaming industry evolved, often
by trial and error, yet always influenced by the
values of William Harrah. He learned early
the value of not having to deal with employee
unions. He avoided their formation over the
years by treating employees properly, for
example, by providing meaningful grievance
procedures, promoting from within, and
staying even or ahead of unions on wages
and benefits. He also acknowledged, as
his operations grew, he and his original
management team would need help in
running a larger and more complex casino-

Special Introduction

entertainment operation. He was therefore
not reluctant to purchase the services of
consulting experts to evaluate management
practices at Harrah’s and indeed he established
a reputation by the mid-1960s for being open
to good ideas.

Harrah went by the personal philosophy
that he wanted his customers treated in the
same manner he himself would want to be
treated. Therefore, whenever he traveled, he
would note what was good and what was bad
about the hotels he visited, and when he built
his hotels in Reno and Lake Tahoe in 1969
and 1973, he implemented most of the good
qualities and avoided most of the weaknesses
he found in other places. He wanted his hotels
to be places that were special, not “just a
Holiday Inn type thing,” as he once referred
to Harvey’s hotel at Lake Tahoe.

After Harrah opened the main showroom
at his Lake Tahoe facility in 1960, he
quickly learned the value of the quality
of entertainment on the volume of play
conducted at the gaming tables and slot
machines. The best stars were the ones
which drew the customers, those who
gambled. Thus, a good star, such as Frank
Sinatra or Sammy Davis, Jr., was worth far
more to the operation than the receipts he
could generate in the showroom. Quality
entertainment, as with quality restaurants
and hotel accommodations, were all part of
a package which, along with gambling, could
attract customers again and again and be the
formula for a successful casino operation.

Yet for all the qualities Harrah and
his operations were known for, the most
important was the integrity and honesty of
the games and of the entire casino operations.
Gaming in Nevada, especially prior to 1960,
had a national reputation of being associated
with unsavory characters, being owned or
controlled by organized crime, or of cheating

customers in rigged games. Harrah, who
had acquired a respect for the law from his
attorney father, believed from the start that
if gambling operations were to remain legal
in the long run, they would have to be run
without any question of integrity. This attitude
has permeated the Harrah’s organization over
the years; Harrah’s has never been implicated
in any scandal and has often been cited as
the model gaming operation in the state of
Nevada. In his otherwise scathing 1965 book
on the questionable owners and operators of
Nevada casinos, Wallace Turner wrote, “The
people with foresight in Nevada, those who
sit and think about the future of the states
gambling business, look on Bill Harrah as a
shining example. If more gambling houses
were in the hands of men like him, one is
told over and over, then the future of Nevada
gambling would be completely safe. In short,
Bill Harrah is what they wish they had
everywhere in Nevada.” 2

This oral history deals not only with
Harrah’s casino and hotel operations. There
is also substantial discussion of Harrah’s
lifelong interest with the automobile and with
driving at high speeds. Harrah’s automobile
collection, which is housed in a warehouse
near his Reno casino operations, is world
famous. Nearly half of the oral history deals
with Harrah’s cars and stories about the cars
over the years. There are also long discussions
on Harrah’s property acquisitions in Idaho,
his Middle Fork Lodge, and vacations which
got him away from the gambling business.
These discussions reveal more of the person,
his values toward life and toward nature.
In general, they are quite insightful to the
personality of this shy and quiet man.

There were weaker sides of William
Harrah which are also brought out in the oral
history. In his earlier days, he was a heavy
drinker and man about town. However, by his

XVI

William F. Harrah

early thirties, he began to realize the damage
such a lifestyle was doing to his health, so
he reformed. He was sometimes accused of
being a perfectionist who could not tolerate
imperfections in others; on occasion, his
remarks reflect this. He was not terribly
successful at matrimony; he was married
seven times in his life.

William Fisk Harrah died on July 1,1978,
shortly after this oral history was completed.
Within two years, the Harrah’s Corporation
was purchased by Holiday Inns, Inc., for a
price in excess of $300 million. The Harrah’s
name is now in Atlantic City, as the legal casino
gaming industry spreads and becomes more
accepted in other jurisdictions throughout the
United States and in the world. However, it is
likely that the influence Harrah has had on
casino gambling will continue for quite some
time both in the casino operations which
carry his name and in a growing number of
imitators.

William R. Eadington
Associate Professor of Economics
University of Nevada-Reno
October, 1980

1. J. George Drews, “The Business of Gaming:
An Insider’s View,” in W.R. Eadington,
(editor), Gambling and Society, C.C. Thomas,
Publisher, Springfield, Ill., 1976, p. 164.

2. Wallace Turner, Gambler’s Money,
Houghton-Mifflin, Boston, Mass., 1965, p.
125.

Early Life, Education,
First Gambling Experiences

William F. Harrah: My father, John Harrah
was born and raised in Newton, Iowa; and his
father and his mother were both born and
raised in Newton, Iowa. My grandfather (my
father’s father) was an attorney—a very nice
man, who died quite young. I was just a little
child. In tact, my grandfather’s funeral was the
first funeral I ever went to. I can remember it
very clearly now. That was in 1919. And the
high point of the funeral [laughs], me being
a car guy, was my father borrowed a Marmon
automobile to transport the family, which was
a much classier car than our family car. And
I remember more about the Marmon than I
do the funeral.

Anyway they were all in Iowa, and I
don’t know who went to California first, my
grandfather or my father. I believe it was my
grandfather and my grandmother. They were
getting up in years, and they had some money,
so they moved to Pasadena, California.
I believe my father and mother stayed in
Newton, where my father was a practicing
attorney. But I remember my father, too, said
many times he was quite successful there

with his law business. Also, he made loans
on farms around the area. Many times, he
said the reason he moved to California was
he just hated those cold Iowa winters, which
was—I believed him, of course. I believed
about everything he told me.

I remember when the winter Olympics
were at Squaw Valley up here, we arranged
for a house up there where we rented, and I
stayed there during the Olympics and went
every day, which was very enjoyable. And I
invited my father up; I had plenty of rooms.
And it was very funny—he was all bundled
up—he came up from Arizona. And he went
one day in the morning [laughs] and left—
wherever he went out for lunch—why, he just
went back to Reno and back to Arizona. He
said, “I came out to get away from those damn
cold winters!”

But on getting back to—he moved out,
and his father was in Pasadena, and they were
quite close. But Pasadena was pretty ritzy, and
he couldn’t afford that, so he bought a home in
South Pasadena, which is where I was born. I
have an older sister that was born in Newton.

William F. Harrah

Then I was born soon after the family moved
to California. And the house where I was born
is still standing; my sister told me that. (She
keeps track of the family better than I do.)
She’s an artist, and she drew a little picture of
it one time on a Christmas card. And it had
a little sign on the lawn; it was real cute. She
had the house and the address and South
Pasadena, and the little sign on the lawn said,
“Bill Harrah was born here.” [Chuckles] So
last spring my wife and I were in Los Angeles
for a few days, and I said, “Hey, let’s go to
South Pasadena and look at the house,” which
we did, and it’s still standing. It’s a real neat
little house.

But he was in South Pasadena, and he
started going to Venice—or to the beach. He
loved the ocean, he loved the beach. I think
my mother dad, too. And so soon after I was
born, they moved to Venice and bought a
home (I’m sure they bought it; they didn’t
build it—maybe they did build it) right on
the waterfront. And it was what was called
the South Beach; that was south of Venice.
Most of the residences were north of Venice.
On the South Beach where we lived, about
halfway to then Del Rey, I think there were
only three houses in the area—three or four.
And they were all older people except one
nearby house; they had a daughter that was a
little older than me, a little younger than my
sister. And we three kids were the only ones
in that area, which was kind of disappointing
because I didn’t have any boy friends till I—
just about till—well, they started moving in,
so—. Wait, I’m gettin’ away from my father,
aren’t I?

Well, we moved to Venice. [The] first
story I’d like to tell on my father—he knew a
lot about automobiles, too, although later in
life he lost interest; I mean he lost an intense
interest. But he always had good cars, and he
could work on ’em himself. He had, I think,

the second car in Newton, Iowa. But when
he first went to Venice—there’s sand there, of
course, sandy beach. And not knowing any
better, he went on a Sunday. And there was a
lot of traffic and difficult to park, so he drove
off in the sand and parked. And of course,
when it came time to leave, he couldn’t get out
[laughing]. And the way he told the story—he
was great at telling stories on himself; when
he’d goof, you know, he’d get so mad at himself.

But we lived there—my sister and I and
my father and mother—and we had a lady that
was a combination housekeeper, baby-sitter,
whatever—named May Aydelott. She was
with us for years and years and years. She was
an old maid; they brought her out from Iowa,
and she became just a member of the family,
really took care of my sister and then me.
And then when we were older, she just helped
my mother. And then later, my grandmother
moved to Venice, and May spent, oh, the last
fifteen years or so with my grandmother.
They associated just in the family till—I can’t
remember who died first—my grandmother
or May. But then it was one of those things;
they were about the same age and so close
that it was one died, and two months later the
other one had died just— they were both old
and feeble.

Looking back, I can see that my mother
was very vivacious and really a neat person,
full of life. She entertained quite—she had a
lot of lady friends. My father wasn’t too social;
my mother was very social. In fact, she was
voted at one time the “most popular girl” in
Newton, Iowa. The church had a thing. Fact,
she told me one time—. She used to go back
a lot after we moved to California when she
was homesick for her mother—her father died
when she was very young, and her mother had
died when I was just a baby, so I never knew
her. But my mother had a brother back there,
and also she had many, many, many friends

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

in Newton. So we had a kind of a pattern that
shed go back about every summer for maybe a
month. Looking back later, I could see that she
was very homesick. She liked California—he
loved California—but she liked it all right, but
she was very homesick. So to cool her down,
why, he permitted her—or encouraged her, I
guess—to go back and stay about a month,
which she just loved. And then after a month,
why, she kind of had her fill and back wed go.
And I remember those very vividly cause it
was a new life—Iowa—to me after the sand
and the—. The Midwest is beautiful in the
summertime, the grassy lawns and the trees.
Back in those days, of course, we went on the
train, and that was just super—riding on the
train and eating in the dining car—I loved
that. But she did that for many years.

Her brother didn’t amount to much. His
name was Roy Fisk—her maiden name was
Fisk. He was an awfully good man— friendly
and lovable Uncle Roy. I liked him very much.
But he’d been a ball player, and he was a very
good ball player— a professional baseball
player. And he got in the then— well, not in
the major leagues, but I guess was as high in
the minor leagues as you can get. I never saw
him play, but he had a good reputation as a
ball player.

Then he married my Aunt Della, and
they never had any children. Roy worked for
Maytag. Of course, Maytag washing machine
was the heart of Newton; still is, for that
matter. But he worked for them, and then he
never did very good. And finally my father,
at I guess my mother’s urging, invited Roy to
California. So my Aunt and Uncle Roy and
Aunt Della drove to California in their 1923
Buick, which I can remember perfectly. And
they lived near us, and I liked [my uncle]; he
was very friendly and all, but he just wasn’t
any good working. He took advantage of my
father because of the relationship, and he

drank a lot. And so I remember I was just
on the edges as a little child, but I remember
Uncle Roy would just mess this up, so they’d
move him over to another— my father had
many things going. I guess I inherited that
from him. Like he had various things on the
Venice pier and parking lots and shooting
galleries, one game—the “Dodge” game—
which my Uncle Roy ran for a while, and on
and on. But Roy would—he drank a lot, and
I remember the “Dodge em — that was a
money making thing. And Roy got in there,
and he hired too much help. And they were
actually running the place, and he was never
there. He was drinking and messing around.
And it started losing money just because of
the heavy expenses. Roy was really bad news
as long as he lived, to my mother and my—but
that’s part of life, I guess.

In getting back to Maytag, who was a
quite—a very wealthy family—they were the
family of Newton. And my mother, as I said,
was the most popular girl, and she went with
one of those sons, Elmer Maytag, for a while
(I think it was Elmer— there were several of
’em). He was very interested in my mother. I
later met him, and he still liked her, too. But
she preferred [Dad], even though he was a
rich boy, and everything. She without any
hesitation—I’ve been told by friends and all
that she liked my father, and she didn’t want
any part of Elmer, which, of course, was
very nice. But then she used to kid me once
in a while—said, “Your name could’ve been
Maytag.” [Laughs]

Well, Venice was a fun place to grow up in.
We lived right on the water, and the climate was
good. I swam most of the year, not all year. I can’t
remember when I couldn’t swim. It’s just like—
people say, “When did you learn to swim?”

I’ll say, “When did I learn to walk? I just
can’t remember when I couldn’t”.—and my
sister the same way.

William F. Harrah

We lived in that home for oh, until I was
maybe ten or twelve. Then we moved a couple
of blocks up the street. I can remember where
we lived by what kind of a car we drove cause
[at] the second home we had a 1922 Franklin;
so as I was born in 1911,1 was eleven when
we moved there—thereabouts. And then the
Boy Scouts—I was twelve—I loved the Boy
Scouts.

Then my father became active in politics
in Venice, and the reason he did was—.
course, he became mayor, and I was the
mayor’s son, which was really somethin’—
why, it was pretty good. Looking back on it,
he had no political ambition whatsoever. But
the town was very corrupt. It wasn’t a part
of Los Angeles then; it was an independent
city. About everything from what I know
now—there were just crookedness, and
painting contracts, and—you name it—there
was somethin’ goin’ on. So he worked hard
to clean it up and didn’t get too far, so he
ran for mayor—well, they called ’em trustees
then, which were councilmen. He was
councilman, and then he was elected mayor.
I think he served two terms. He wasn’t the
most popular because he didn’t— there were
a lot of sleazy politicians that he didn’t fit in
with.

I remember in those days—well, it was
almost full circle that they could print about
anything in the paper about anybody, and
you just couldn’t—. And the paper was
owned by nobody; and if you sued them,
you—you know. And I remember I used to
read—nothing bothered my father, but my
mother would really get upset. They would
tell the story about—be in the headlines on
the paper during the election, you know— the
week before, “John Harrah was seen in this
nightclub upstairs with this blonde,” and “he
was drunk” and “his arm around her,” and all.
And he never drank, ever in his whole life,

and he didn’t mess around, and it was just,
you know— he said, “Well, that’s crazy!”

But she said, “I know it is, I know!” But
she said, “But what’ll people think?” and all.

Anyway, to get to the point, he got
reelected as long as he wanted to be. But then
it got to be so bad, he was so disappointed—
what Venice could’ve been—he could see what
it could’ve been—it could’ve been super. Like
Santa Monica stayed out of Los Angeles. Los
Angeles, like most big cities, wants to grab
every inch around it. And it grabbed Venice.
I remember they would have meetings—the
annexation committee— and he would go,
and he’d protest, and people would say oh,
how wonderful it was gonna be when they
went into Los Angeles. And it wasn’t; all it
did was, they changed some of the good
laws Venice had, and we paid our money
to Los Angeles—our taxes. But my point is,
Santa Monica didn’t enter. And at one time
Venice was far superior, was larger than Santa
Monica, and it was cleaner, and it was neater,
and today, why, Santa Monica is one of the
nicest little cities in southern California. It’s
in the ball park with Beverly Hills. It’s just real
neat, and it’s an independent city. But that’s
what happened.

But anyway, when they voted to go
in and they went into Los Angeles, why, I
remember his saying—I don’t remember the
exact words—but he said, “That’s it,” he said,
and he said, “I’m through here.” And he had
property here, and he had property there and
businesses here and businesses there, and
he just sold ’em. No sacrifice, but someone
wanted to buy em—’’Okay, here you are.” It
wasn’t hard to deal with him. And he sold
just about everything he had, and we moved
to Hollywood, and by then he was in another
line of business. He had gotten into the trust
deed business, which was very lucrative. Are
you familiar with a trust deed?

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

Well, there’s a mortgage—you know what
a mortgage is— a piece of real estate. Well,
then a trust deed is very similar to a mortgage,
but there’s a few different laws concerning it.
So you can take a piece of property, and you
can get a trust deed on it instead of a mortgage
[if] you want to borrow money. But usually
a trust deed is a secondary mortgage, but it’s
seen for some legal reason. But at least in
California, a piece of property was mortgaged,
and then the people wanted some more
money, and either the mortgage or mortgagor
didn’t want to enlarge the mortgage—then
they would get trust deeds which in effect was
the secondary mortgage. But then they went
in that order. So if, say, the property owner
didn’t pay—defaulted on the trust deed, the
trust deed owner could go in and take the
owner’s position; so the trust deed owner
became the owner of the property, subject to
the mortgage.

So my father and a man named Johnny
Moore, who was a brilliant man—which
was part of my education. He was one of
the smartest men I ever met, and he’d never
gone to grammar school. He just had it as far
as real estate was concerned—just a genius.
They were partners, and they made a good,
good team. They made a lot of money. What
they did was, they would buy a trust deed,
like a five-thousand-dollar trust deed; and
somebody needed money real fast, which
happened. They advertised for them—okay,
“trust deeds bought.” So here you come with
a five-thousand-dollar trust deed on a piece of
property, say worth fifty-thousand dollars and
add maybe a twenty-five-thousand- or twenty-
thousand-dollar mortgage on. So they would
buy the trust deed, and the five-thousand
or forty-two-hundred sum real fast. And, “I
need the money” [claps hands], “Here you
are.” And then they would—whatever made
sense—acquire the property or take their time

and sell the trust deed at market value. And
they were very careful, I remember.

Johnny Moore, my father’s partner,
couldn’t drive a car, and so a lot of my time
was spent in driving him around. My father’d
be doing—and I would drive Johnny Moore
somewhere, which was really fun. And I
remember [chuckles] Johnny and I loved to
drive fast. And Johnny Moore was diabetic,
which I learned somethin’ about health from
him, as he later died from it. He had terrible
eating habits. But it affected his eyesight,
so he couldn’t—he could look at a piece of
property— you’d take him to Saugus, or
somethin’, and he could see the layout of the
[property], and he could see where this was
and that was, and here’s the building where—
and he could appraise it down to a dime. But
he couldn’t see small, so he couldn’t read the
speedometer. So I would drive him up there,
we’d be bouncin’ along pretty good in one of
the Franklins. Their top speed was sixty (and
I always drove sixty [laughs]), and Johnny’d
be shakin a little bit, and he’d say, “Bill!” He
said, “I can’t quite see what that speedometer
says. How fast are we going?”

I said, “Oh, we’re goin forty-two, Johnny.”

He said, “Well, okay.” [Laughs] He never
did know!

But anyway, they did very well. We moved
to Hollywood, and we had a lovely home
there that I liked very much. Then when the
Depression came, why it changed everything.
But I can come into that later.

Oh, that’s enough on Venice and the early
days, isn’t it?

Mary Ellen Glass: You went to school there,
too, though.

Oh, gee whiz, yeah, yeah. That was neat.
I went to Florence Nightingale grammar
school, and it was a big thing. I was a timid

William F. Harrah

little kid, and I don’t understand why; I was
just scared of my shadow Other little kids just
went to school, and then the year before I went
to school, I worried about it. What I worried
about was not going to school; I worried about
not doing the right thing. I wanted to do the
right thing; I really worried about it. So I can
almost still remember my first day of school.
And I think my mother or May Aydelott took
me and got me in the right room and all. And
I lived nearby the school, so I was supposed
to go home at lunch—all of which I knew. So
I got in my little desk, and I sat there. And
so they had recess, and they didn’t—no one
said it was recess; I guess everybody knew or
maybe they did say it, but I missed it. And I
thought it was lunch time, so I went home at
ten in the morning. And so my mother was
surprised to see me and thought there was a
big problem and, “What’s the matter?” I said
I came home for lunch. “Well, it’s only ten
o’clock.” And then everybody figured out it
was recess.

So then I had to go back, and that was ten
times worse than going the first time because
I came back—I guess my mother took me
back—and here this room was full of kids.
And it’s in session, the teacher’s there, and
Bill had to come in.

But I liked my little school, and I did
very well. I loved school. So the first grade
and the second grade—it was a two-room
schoolhouse, which I loved very much. Well
rather than two-room, they had two rooms,
and they had two classes in each room. So
then I would be in the lower—you know the
story. The class above me—I knew mine, and
then I would listen to theirs; so then when
I got up there, I already knew it. So I was
outstanding compared to what they had; I
was very good. So then I had some teacher
that said I was so good, I should move up.
And there was no place to go in that school;

so they sent me to another school, Martha
Washington, which was right in downtown
Venice, only east a little bit. But it was a big
school compared to my little school. And I
went there, and the school had already started
when they transferred me. And so everyone
was a stranger, and everything was new, and
it was just total disaster. I hated it, and they
weren’t too thrilled with having me because
I was kind of a misfit. So I remember those
days just—that lasted about a month, and I
just hated every day.

And then finally, my folks figured out
what was goin’ on, so they got me back in my
little Florence Nightingale. And then I was
real happy. So that went through the sixth
grade, and then it was the Venice High School,
which was a nice high school. And there was
a Venice Junior High School, and I went to
Venice Junior High, which I liked very much.
And we took the streetcar to go to that. By
then we’d moved up to the other part of Venice
on Sunset Avenue. But it was just a half a block
to the streetcar tracks. The Pacific Electric was
quite an extensive streetcar system. Then, you
know, they went from downtown Los Angeles
clear out to Santa Monica and Venice, and you
could go the other way—you could go clear to
San Bernardino. It was several hundred miles
you could ride on this Pacific Electric; it was
a big thing.

So the streetcar I took to high school was
the regular streetcar, rode the line from Venice
to Los Angeles. And the junior high school
and the high school was about oh, two or three
miles, four miles towards Los Angeles from
Venice. And they had a special they ran every
morning—three or four cars, and it was all full
of high school kids. I remember the worst job,
I think, in the world, was being the conductor
on the special. There were some real smarty
kids that just rang the bells and put caps on
the tracks and put the brakes on, and they’d

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

get so crazy [laughing], those conductors, and
it was a—.

But anyway, Venice Junior High I liked
that very much and had some good teachers
there—at least I liked them. And that’s when I
found out that I was never gonna be an athlete.
Playing around—like I could swim real good,
and I could ride my bicycle real good. I could
do anything the other kids could do that we
played. Baseball, I’ve played a little, and I
was just as good as the other kids. Then I got
into junior high school, and I was very—you
know—I was six-foot-three and a hundred
and thirty pounds or something. And I was
reasonably fast but very weak; I couldn’t lift
anything or—anything. So I had learned
pretty fast I wasn’t gonna be an athlete, which
didn’t bother me at all. I didn’t really care for
football or anything; I liked baseball.

But I remember in the Boy Scouts, which
I already said I dearly loved—and I was a
Tenderfoot and a Second Class and a First
Class. And these merit badges—I had merit
badges up and down both my arms [gestures],
and I just loved the Boy Scouts. But the one
I couldn’t get was “athletics.” You had to run
so fast and jump so high, and that was one
that you had to get to be an Eagle Scout—I
had all the others—and I just couldn’t run
fast enough or jump high enough. Well, for
people like me, then, you could get a merit
badge in “physical development,” which they
would check you as of certain date; and then
six months or a year later you had to show
that you had developed physically. And I
really tried for that one, too. I exercised and
ran, and at the end of six months I was just
the same [laughing]! So I never got to be an
Eagle Scout, and that’s one of the big regrets
in my life. I would’ve just given anything to
have been an Eagle Scout.

Getting back to the car, I guess—the
Scouts reminds me, I had a Hudson I was

driving, and so I had kind of an in with
the scoutmaster because I had a car at my
disposal. I guess I was old enough to drive. But
I learned to drive when I was urn—let’s see—
somethin’ like eight years old. I remember
we went to Big Bear—that’s a mountain area
in southern California. We went there every
summer, which was real neat because living
at the beach—and then summertime, you
don’t want to go to the beach, so we’d go to
the mountains. And we would rent a cabin up
there—I think we went three years and maybe
even four—and they called ’em housekeeping
cabins. It was a two-cabin, had a little kitchen
and all, and we would move up there for a
month or six weeks—my father and mother
and May and my sister. We lived there, and
we’d set up our kitchen and refrigerator and
everything. And my father would go to Los
Angeles. And generally, he’d go on Monday,
come back on Friday. And then sometimes
he’d be there during the week. He was a lawyer,
and maybe he wasn’t too busy; he loved it
up there like we all did. There were very few
people up there then.

I think he was driving a Chalmers at
the time. But he’d found an old Hudson
somewhere. It was about a 1911 Hudson. It
was right-hand drive, which in those days,
in 1916, was a funny-lookin’ car because
everything else was left-hand drive. And the
old Hudson—it was right-hand drive, and you
had to crank it to start it. And I could drive it
fine, although I couldn’t see over the steering
wheel. But I could drive it. But I couldn’t start
it ’cause I was so little. So I would park it on a
hill—this was with my father’s okay—and I’d
park it on a hill, and then after breakfast or
somethin’ I’d want to go to the store for my
mother, or just go for a ride. I’d go out and
coast the Hudson down the hill a ways and let
the clutch out and away it would go—’’chug,
chug, chug, chug, chug.” So like if I did go to

William F. Harrah

the store—of course, the store we went to, it
was on a hill, so I had no problem there. But
anyplace where it was level, then I would very
carefully keep the engine running because if
it stopped, I was dead. [Laughs] I liked that
old Hudson; that was a fun car.

But Big Bear was a great experience up
there because of the—to get up there was an
old, narrow road, and you had to have a pretty
good car to get up there. It was real interesting
to me, the cars that could make it and the cars
that couldn’t. Quite often the real fancy cars
didn’t do as well as the Dodges and things,
which, course, was a part of the interesting
thing.

Another thing I remember about Big Bear
was the pine trees. See, it was about, I think,
6,000 feet—just about what Tahoe is. It had
these pine trees in the forest and all and the
pine nuts and the pine cones and the squirrels,
all of which was entirely new to me. And I can
still remember that. That was very enjoyable.

I remember they had one place at Big
Bear—see, it was tiny, maybe just a few
hundred people there at this time. The Pine
Nut Lodge was the main store, and they got
ice cream, I think, once or twice a week. And
the big thing—like Tuesday or Thursday or
whenever it was—and we’d go down and get
ice cream. I can still remember that.

Then we moved to Hollywood in 1926.
And the timing was just perfect for me
because I finished junior high school in June
of ’26 and started at Hollywood High School
in September of ’26. And the first grade of
high school was seventh grade, so it was just—
fit real neat. My sister, course, had finished
high school, I believe—yeah, she finished
Venice. And she was one of those—you may
have had that experience if you have sisters
or brothers—older ones. She was a straight-A
student; actually everything was A’s and with
not too much effort. And so I come along

and William Harrah—”Oh! You Margaret’s
brother?”

“Yes.

“Oh, I expect great things from you,
William.” If I heard that once, I heard it a
hundred times. I always got along great with
my sister, but if I ever had any hard feelings,
that was one of them. Some A’s were pretty
easy for me like mathematics and all, but some
weren’t so easy, and she got ’em all.

But she, having gotten out of high school
in Venice, then wanted to go to college. I
don’t know why she went to Mills College
in Berkeley, whether it was friends or school
chums or maybe just wanted to get away from
home. But she went to Mills for, I think, one
or two years, and she liked it pretty good.
Then she switched to UCLA, where she got
in a sorority and got a little social life. And
she lived in Hollywood with us, ’26—yeah,
she was in Hollywood a little later. I guess she
was gone, yeah, the first couple of years.

I went to Hollywood High School, which
I loved Hollywood High School. I thought
I was really somebody going to Hollywood
High. And by then I had my own car, which
was a big event in my life—a 1926 Chevrolet,
which I have a duplicate of in the Collection.
My father was wonderful to me where money
was concerned, or things that I wanted.

There was one time when I was very
young, maybe six or seven or something;
and I asked him one time—oh, I remember,
it was my second bicycle—my Ranger bicycle,
which I had a bicycle he’d given me, and it
was a second-hand bicycle. It was a pretty
good bicycle, but I wanted a new one. So in
June of—I must have been eight or nine—I
said, “In September, my birthday, can I have
a new bicycle?” I knew the one I wanted; I
don’t know if I told him that. Yeah, well, I
guess I did. I wanted a Ranger Moto Bike, it
was called; it looked like a motorcycle, and it

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

was just the super-bike of the time. I still think
it was. And I had a catalog on it, and I was
all excited. I remember it cost sixty dollars,
which was a lot of money. And I said, “For
my birthday can I have a Ranger Moto Bike?”

And he said, “Oh, somethin’ I want to tell
you, Bill.” He said, “Birthdays and Christmas,”
he said, “those are for— they’re okay—the
present giving,” he said, “but that’s mostly
for your mother and your sister. They like to
make big things out of the holidays and the
birthdays. But,” he said, “you and I,” he said,
“anything you want that I can afford that
your friends have—most your friends have
somewhere,” he said, “you can have. If I can
afford it, you can have it.” And he says, “Just
ask me for it, and we’ll go get it.” And he said,
“You can’t have any better than your friends,
but no worse.” He said, “I just want you to stay
even with everybody.” And he said, “Just ask
me, and we’ll do it.”

So he said, “Let’s go get the Ranger;” this
was in June. I remember we drove to L.A.,
and bought the bike. I remember it was sixty
dollars, and he wrote out a check. I thought
at the time, “Gee, it’s wonderful havin’ a rich
father!” [Laughs]

But then when it came time for the car—.
The first car was—I just wanted a car, and
it had to be a low-priced car; I knew that
without talking or discussing it. So all there
was at the time was—well, there was Ford
and Chevrolet and Star. And I’d studied
them, of course, every inch, and I preferred
the Chevrolet for several reasons. So he
went down and bought me a 1926 Chevrolet
roadster. I think it was six hundred dollars,
somethin’ like that. And that was a big thrill.
It had to be ordered, I remember; it was a
new model, so they didn’t have any in stock.
And it had to come in from the East in the
freight car. And I remember I went down to
the dealer’s shop every day—maybe twice a

day. “Where’s my car? Where’s my car? There’s
my car?”

And I guess I really must’ve bugged them
’cause I went down one day, and I walked in;
they said, “Your car’s here! Your car’s here!”

I—”Wow! There is it?” Well, it was. It had
just come in on the freight car, hadn’t been
unloaded and all. And they—to get rid of me,
I think—at the time I thought they were being
nice, but I think it was to get rid of me—”So
why don’t you go down and help ’em unload
it?” which of course, I did. And what a thrill
that was to go to the freight car, and here’s the
little Chevy roadster all jacked up. And we
pulled it out and towed it out and put water
and gas in it, and away it went. And then I
dolled it all up. I can remember every single
thing I did to it—I changed this, changed that,
changed this—a lot of details I won’t bother
the story with.

The car’s in the Collection. Well, a few
little things, like, I always wanted a neat-
lookin’ car, so it had a single spare, and I put
two spares on it, and I lowered it. And nickel
plated—they had lights and put extra lights—I
think I had thirteen lights on the front end of
it. It was really dolled up.

I didn’t hop it up any, and looking back, I
don’t understand that. It’s the only car I ever
owned till recently that I didn’t hop up. I put a
straight pipe—exhaust pipe—on it, some fancy
horns, but I didn’t do a thing to it to speed it up.
And it would go fifty-five miles an hour, and
I drove it at fifty-five [laughs] miles an hour a
lot of the time, and— which doesn’t sound as
crazy as what it sounds in town, because there
wasn’t very much traffic then. And, of course,
I was a super driver with—a sixteen-year-old
kid has coordination you wouldn’t believe, you
know. Even with my little two-wheel brakes, I
could do all sorts of things.

But then staying on cars, my next car
was a ’29 Ford Cabriolet. And that’s the one I

William F. Harrah

hopped up—well, the first one I hopped up,
which was—Model A Ford—was fifty-five to
sixty-five miles an hour—and mined do about
sixty I put overhead valves on, so it would do
eighty And so I drove it eighty! [Laughs] And
it was so funny’ I would get arrested quite
a bit, I think it was on an average of once a
week, in southern California ’cause I drove so
fast. And being a juvenile, they couldn’t fine
me. So they would take me down—the only
thing—I guess they still do it today. I had to
go downtown to a juvenile officer and go in
and sit down. It was like being punished in
school. And he went, “da da da da da da da”
[shakes finger]. He knew just what he was
going to say, and he knew I knew what he was
going to say. But he had to do it, and I had to
listen, so it would be ten or fifteen minutes of
bawling out. And then when he’d get through,
he’d say, “Now you’re gonna slow—.”

I said, “Oh, yes sir. I’m gonna slow down.”
So then I’d go out. Next week I’d be sitting in
the same chair hearing the same lecture!

So that went on and on, and I think my
mother had to take me down or something,
it was quite a nuisance. So my father got wind
of it. So he’s the lawyer, and he liked to speak
his piece. So he really thought it was kind of
dumb anyway—my going down. It was just
those spinning wheels, you know. They were
accomplishing nothing; I was accomplishing
nothing. So he wrote ’em a letter. It was a
very nice, legal letter; but he got his point
across—’’So-and-so, and you’re bringing my
boy down there, da da da da da. Why don’t
you quit pickin’ on him, leave him alone, or
something. John Harrah”—which Harrah is
an unusual name. But there was a policeman,
a detective in the L.A. police department at
the time, and I think was even in the juvenile
division. But he had nothing to do with the
traffic; it was other. But his name why, “Oh,
wow!” So it put a red flag on it.

So because of my father’s so-called nasty
letter, whoever came up before said, “Well, we
don’t want to bother with that Harrah kid any
more. Let’s refer everything to juvenile court
from here on, every time.”

So I remember the juvenile court was on
the top floor of the Hall of Justice, which you
see on TV many times. The Hall of Justice is
still there. When you see a detective movie in
L.A., why, they wind up on the Hall of Justice.
And I don’t know—it was the eighth floor or
somethin’. I had to go to juvenile court every
time. And it was so ridiculous. My mother had
to go, which really upset her. And I remember
one time it was really funny, looking back. But
I went, and was sittin’ there with the other
“defendants.” And they brought them in. I
came in with my mother, but they brought
them in from jail. They had handcuffs on,
and one was a rapist, and one was a murder
suspect—real bad kids. And you could look—
it was just terrible—and I’m sittin’ there right
next to them.

So they called one and—murder one—
and then his defense, “Oh, blah, blah, blah.”
So they postponed it. And then the second
one was somethin’—assault, and attacking
girls and everything. So then, okay, “William
Harrah. Faulty muffler.” [Laughs] That was
the judge. He started to say, “What the hell is
this?” but he caught himself. He said, “What
in heaven’s name is a boy doing in this court
for a faulty muffler?” And of course, the
prosecutor had to try and explain it. And
the judge was kind of mad. And he said,
“Well, blah, blah, blah. This boy and his
speedings—.”

“Well, he’s not here for speeding. He’s here
for a faulty muffler—most ridiculous thing I
ever saw! Case dismissed!” Which I was very
thrilled, ’cause it was—made me nervous goin’
to court. I didn’t mind goin to the other place,
but goin to court was scary. But I remember

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

my mother and my father got a big kick out
of that.

You skipped rather fast over some of your school
days. I wondered, since you were so interested
in engineering and mathematics, and your
business sense has been so well developed, if
you recalled something from your school days
that might have —.

Oh, I see, yeah. Well, math was always fun
and still is. But I know I liked any subject—any
exact—like math was “two and two is four,”
period. And when it got into “maybe” and all,
it wasn’t nearly as interesting. So I remember
math and physics was very interesting to me
just because of that. So then I did, I liked math.
I remember chemistry and I didn’t get along
too good, which was my own fault.

But in high school I just took what other
people—I had no idea where I was going or
what I was gonna do. And most kids didn’t.
There were a few that did, and I always kind of
was jealous of them or at least admired them,
that they had a direction. And my father didn’t
give me any—you know—many people would
say, “Well, your grandpa’s a lawyer, and your
father’s a lawyer; you’re gonna be a lawyer.”

And my father right from the start said,
“This is a lousy business. So if you want to be
a lawyer, be a lawyer, but,” he said, “no way
am I gonna—” he said, “you do whatever you
want to do.”

And from what I’d seen of the law
business, there was—I looked at it like I guess
most kids do—of the courtroom stuff, which,
of course, most law isn’t; but that’s what I saw.
And courtroom to me was always bad news
and screamin’, and yellin’, and da da da da da;
and I thought, “I don’t want to spend my life
that way. I want to get up, and when I go to
work, I want look forward, happy—oh boy,
I’m gonna be nice to people. I’m going to be

pleasing them rather than fightin’ with them
[gestures fist fight] .”

My father was a very good lawyer in that
he—it didn’t bother him at all. He prepared—
he was in the law firm for years (Harrah,
Lewis, and Blodgett was the name in Los
Angeles) The three of’em were quite different.
Lewis was excellent in court. Blodgett was
good in criminal cases. My father was the
guy that dug it out of the books and prepared
the cases. He was very capable in court, but
mostly he did the work. So when Harrah,
Lewis, and Blodgett appeared in court, they
were well prepared.

But he didn’t really like it, and he got into
so many other things. Well, like the Venice
Investment Company’s a good story. Was
living in Venice; he didn’t practice in Venice.
He practiced in Los Angeles, as I told you.
But there was a George Cleveland, who was a
very interesting man, in Venice—a go-getter,
another man with no education but a real
genius business-wise. And he had a theater,
a movin’ picture theater. And someone else
had a movin’ picture theater, and George
thought it’d be a good idea to start a chain. I
think maybe there were three theaters. So they
wanted to form a partnership or a business
association of some kind. And this was six o
clock at night or something.

“Where can we get a lawyer?” Well, I guess
there were a couple of lawyers in Venice, and
somebody knew my father, and they called
him. “Could you come in? This is a big deal
for me. I’m a very good friend. And we know
you’re home (da da da), but we just need—we
wanna put this deal together tonight. Can you
come in and draw up the papers?”

And my father—yes, he went to this
meeting. So they were goin’ along, and they
were formin’ this—well, maybe there were
four or five theaters—I guess there were—and
four or five partners. So this man’s theater

William F. Harrah

was worth fifty thousand, and this man’s
theater was worth eighty thousand, and this
man— and all. Say, they were shootin’ for
five hundred; and they had some money, but
their whole thing—they were about fifteen or
twenty thousand dollars short of what they
needed to form this company, the Venice
Investment Company

So my father said, “Gee, this looks pretty
good to me.” He said, “I’ll put in twenty if you
want me as a partner.”

And they said, “Oh, love to have you,
John.”

So he put in the twenty, which was a shock
to (huh!) my mother and all. It was “Gee,
we’re in the theater business!” And it was so
neat. It was a good company, and this George
was just a super guy. And they opened other
theaters. These were Venice; Ocean Park,
which is between Venice and Santa Monica;
Santa Monica, and Hermosa Beach, Redondo
Beach, and somewhere else. I think they had
eight or ten.

And movies in those days, then, or no
TV or anything— that was a big thing. They
had first-run movies, of course. And my
father being one of the owners, we all had
passes. I had a pass, and my mother and my
grandmother had a pass. And they were for
loge seats, too, and I remember what a thrill
it was having that pass.

But I also learned something about
business from that ’cause after they started
with four or five theaters, or maybe three,
then they opened four or five more. And we
would go to all the theater openings. And
there was nobody actually runnin’ the thing,
and it was just kinda second—I mean the
actual building, the theater. When they were
finished, they were good theaters. They were
well designed, but there was no time table.
And I remember it would drive me up the
wall. I remember when the one in Ocean Park

opened—and when it was like, supposed to
open at seven o’clock at night, and on such a
night. And they had the searchlight in the air
and the huge crowd and all. And we went up;
and because of who we were, we went right
in at quarter to seven—my father, my mother,
and all— and went in, and they only had half
of the chairs down. And there were workmen
there, and they were screwin’ the chairs down
and not goin’—you know, a row every twenty
minutes or so. And so I could just instantly
see that it was gonna be midnight, you know,
before their evening. And I was horrified!
Just what a terrible—I was embarrassed. And
it didn’t bother my father a bit. He just, you
know, that’s the way it was.

And I didn’t get into to it too much then,
but it happened over and over. Every theater
opening was total disaster. It was—they
opened about two days before they should.
And I remember getting into it, and I was
always with him, and try to learn, too. And I
said, “Why don’t you get the seats down before
you—21’

He said, “Oh, so what? What got hurt?
The people saw the movie, didn’t they, didn’t
they?”—you know, all of which was true, but
it was lousy.

And I said, “Well, shouldn’t we have
planned a little better?”

“Oh, poohy.” He just—.

And he wasn’t too good with the general
public. His thinkin’ and mine on the general
public—he never called ’em suckers or
anything, but he just—. He didn’t want to
cheat ’em, but he didn’t want to give ’em too
much. I remember the Circle Game in Venice,
that’s in the ’30s. But when he built that—and
he built it just as cheap as he could—he had
twelve-dollar stools. And I’ll never forget our
competition had thirty-dollar stools, and they
were padded real soft, and ours were hard and
cheesy-lookin’. And I remember I complained

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

about the stools, and my father said, “What?
You want better stools? Why? You know, you
can sit on that.”

I says, “Look at Carpenter’s stool, his
beautiful stool!” Well, then, he couldn’t see
that at all. It was a total waste of money.

And the Bingo parlor’s the same thing.
Robbins, who were up here—you know. Ed
Robbins, I guess, is still around; but Ed and
Harry were our competitors down there, and
they were really operators. And they had—
Robbins Palace is what they called their
Bingo parlors. And they were just beautiful
with chandeliers and super soft chairs; and
they were expensive, of course, but they were
just beautiful. And ours were just terrible
lookin’. That’s somethin’ my father could
never see.

Hollywood High was—I can remember
that. And I can remember my first day, which
was scary; but I got into it right— real fast.
And I met some friends, some who are still
my friends—the ones that haven’t died. They
were my closest friends in Hollywood High
School. I made friends at UCLA, but my true
friends were at Hollywood High School.

I loved the school. And we had a football
team that was just fair, but we had a good
school spirit. Our colors were red and white.
I went to all the football games. And there
was a football coach that I liked very much,
and I wasn’t a football player at all—Vic Kelly.
He was part Indian, and he was an excellent
coach. And I remember he wore beautiful
clothes which I’ve always been a clothes
freak. But most football coaches at that time
dressed in sweatshirts and things, and Vic
Kelly always had a brand new suit on. He
came there, and our team was pretty low, and
after a year or two he brought us up. And one
year we won the championship—the L. A. city
championship. We played maybe eight games
and won ’em all. And I can still remember

that, when Hollywood High School won the
championship.

I said earlier, I was kinda weak, but I did
understand cars and motors and things. And
they had a Fordson tractor at the school that
they used to plow the football field, level it,
and so on. And I was the only one that could
start the Fordson tractor; it was kind of balky.
And there’s a little trick to starting that with a
little old quick flip, and having the spark and
everything just right. And you had to crank it,
and I could crank it. And I remember what a
thrill it was; one of the janitors could crank it,
but when he was unavailable or something, I
remember more than once I’d be sitting in one
of my classes, and a messenger would come
and interrupt the teacher. The messenger
would say, “Vic Kelly

I wants Bill Harrah on the football field
right away [laughing].

And the teacher’d say, “Dismissed” or
“Excused, William.” And away I’d go like
this [gesture strutting]. Vic Kelly wanted Bill
Harrah. And I’d go down and start the tractor
for him. [Laughs] That was fun.

But at Hollywood I made friends, and
there was [Bradstreet] Brad Miller and Todd
Brown—are two close ones. And then others’ll
come out. Todd is gone, and Brad is still alive.
He lives in Los Angeles. He’s still a very close
friend. I see him once or twice a year. We
reminisce.

Digressing a little bit—well, it’s the same
period—see, I started at Hollywood in ’26.
And I met Brad—oh, that was interesting—I’d
known Brad in Venice. And he had moved
to Hollywood the same time I did—just
coincidence. (Yeah, that’s where I knew him.)
Anyway, he and I had planned this way ahead,
I’m sure, but in 1926 we took a trip. He had
a 1925 Model T Ford. That’s before I got my
Chevrolet. So in the summer of’26 we drove
his Model T. We just—he and I took a trip

William F. Harrah

with his father and my father’s permission
for ten-day—two-week—trip in the Model
T Ford—just two boys. Brad’s a year older
than I am, so I was fifteen, he was sixteen—
in his Model T Ford. And we drove from
Hollywood north through Bakersfield, and
then we went up through Yosemite Park
and over Tioga Pass and into Reno and
back through Sacramento (and he had some
relatives near Sacramento) , and then back
to L.A. And it was very exciting, I being
a car person, and to drive that far. course
Brad—and we are extremely good friends—
but I drove us only to—a Model T. Ford,
if you know how to drive a Model T Ford,
there was this pedal on the left—that’s your
gears— and you push the pedal clear to the
floor, and that’s low. Half up back is neutral,
and all the way back is high. So, of course,
most of the time you’re driving in high gear.
Then you come to a Model T Ford—a good
one will climb a lot of hills in high gear very
well. But you come to a very steep hill, and
you have to go into low, and you have to
hold it with your foot down—your left foot.
And it vibrates a little bit, and to hold it for
ten minutes or something, it becomes very
wearing. And then you try your right foot,
and it’s very—it’s not much fun.

So learning to drive like I did—. So we
started out, and Brad was driving; it was
his car. And from L.A. to—I don’t think we
made Bakersfield the first day. You know,
thirty miles an hour was pretty good, and
a Ford, thirty-five. But he drove, and that’s
fine. I didn’t think of driving; but I thought
just without—subconsciously—I’m sure I
thought, “Well, I’ll be driving from time to
time.” But I didn’t get to drive, and I didn’t get
to drive and I didn’t get to drive, and I didn’t
get to drive. And I didn’t ask, but it was really
growin’ on me, and I wasn’t quite as friendly
to Brad as I was. Here he’s doin’ all the drivin’,

and I’m just sittin. Very disappointing, very
disappointing.

So then in Yosemite, and we camped out
and all. And then we started over Tioga, which
is very steep. So he drove to just where he had
to go into low, and he was really smart. Just
before he got there, he said, “Oh, Bill, would
you like to drive?”

I said, “Oh, whee, yes!” [Laughs] So I got
in and maybe drove twenty feet, then had
to go into low because of the hill. I guess he
knew the road or somethin’. So I went up that
darn thing, and it was maybe ten miles or
something just in this Model T Ford and low
gear, so that’s a half an hour, forty-five minutes
in low. And one foot, and the other foot, and
da da da da, workin’. But I’m drivin’ the car;
it’s kinda—but my feet are gettin’ so tired.
And I couldn’t wait to get—I knew the road a
little, too. Eventually it leveled out; and wow,
I could get to drivin’. So it got to the top, and
it leveled out; and I just started to shift into
high, and Brad says, “Okay, I’ll take it now.”
[Laughs]

And I thought, “What a dirty guy!” So, it
kinda—from then on, our friendship wasn’t
really the best. We got along, but the last few
days of the trip he drove the whole thing.
And we didn’t talk too much, and it was
extremely—I’ve told him many times.

But we came to Reno, and I remember
Reno in 1926.1 don’t remember any casinos,
but I wasn’t lookin’ for any. But we stayed—I
don’t know if the motel’s still there. We found
a motel between Reno and Sparks—and it was
cheap, of course. And there weren’t too many;
they called them somethin’ else then. What’d
they call ’em?

Auto camps.

Yeah, auto camp, yeah. And it wasn’t
too bad, but it was very cheap. And we were

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

thrilled, you know, staying, cause wed been
camping out quite a bit.

I remember we stayed in Bridgeport in a
hotel there. I don’t know if it’s still there, that
old Bridgeport hotel.

That was very funny—the Model T Ford
with its planetary transmission. And the
gears—it’s always really in gear. And there’s a
lot of oil in there. And a Ford, you start a Ford
that’s cold—the Model T Ford—and with oil
in the transmission it’ll move forward. And
you can hold it back till the oil warms up, but
it will automatically, you know—you watch
out—you crank a Ford, and it’ll start moving
forward.

Well, Brad in Bridgeport—and it was in
July, I’m sure, And we got there maybe at
night, not late, but dusk, and this Bridgeport
hotel, whatever it was. We went—they had a
room, and it was a nice room. We were very
delighted—had dinner. And he parked the
Ford, and he pointed it against the hotel. All
the other cars were, but they had conventional
transmission to them, with a neutral. And of
course, this car you had to self-start it before
it did.

But then the next morning Brad went
to start it, and it was very cold. You know,
Bridgeport in July, it got way down. So the
oil’s very cold. So he went to start it, and it
wouldn’t start because the starter couldn’t
turn ’cause the Ford would push against the
hotel. [Chuckles] And it was up there, and
so he was very embarrassed and very mad
because his wonderful little Ford wouldn’t
start. And, of course, by then I wasn’t too
friendly, anyway, and I was going, “Huh huh
huh” [folds arms].

So then, what you do with that, in a case
like that, you jack up one of the rear wheels,
and which is good as jackin’ em both up; and
that wheel can turn. And so the engine, the
transmission, the drive shaft—everything

turns. And you can start it, and then it’ll warm
up; and then you can stop the wheel and jack
it down and drive it away, which we did. But
he was very embarrassed with his little Ford.
And the other cars were just cornin’ out and
startin’ their cars and drivin’ away, and here
the Ford wouldn’t start.

But I remember, for dinner we had a little
money. Brad’s father was—he was a wealthy
man. He was very cheap. And I never liked
him too much, and I don’t think Brad did
either. But Brad’s father and mother were
divorced, which was unusual in those days.
And his father was very bitter. Brad reminded
him of his mother or somethin’, so he would
just—. Brad had another brother that got
treated a little better than Brad did, a younger
brother.

But I remember, like for the trip, I went
to my father and said, “Da da da, I’m going
here and I need some money.” And he knew
I wanted to go, and I had permission.

He said, “What do you think you need?”
And I don’t remember the numbers exactly,
but just for numbers, say oh, maybe eight
dollars a day for ten days is eighty dollars—
just two of us that would be.

And he said, “Well, how’s a hundred or
somethin’?”—you know—’’Here you are.”

And then we went to Brad’s father. And
well, he had it all figured out, you know—fifty
cents a day for gas and twelve cents for this.
And I think he gave thirty dollars. And Brad
was very embarrassed, and I don’t know if I
was there or near. And Brad didn’t tell him
that my father’d given me a hundred; I don’t
think he gave him over forty or fifty dollars,
and that was—just a real cheap guy. And he
had so much money. Brad suffered all through
his childhood. He was always kind of a second
class to the rest of us because of his father. And
Brad hustled good, which maybe—maybe it
helped him that way.

William F. Harrah

But when I got—this leads to this other
story—then I’ll go back. On my Model A
Ford—’29—which cost eight hundred and
some dollars, which was quite a bit. That was
a Cabriolet, a fancy body style. And at the
time—well, it was time for a car; I’d been sick,
which I’ll get into later. And it was time for
a new car. So my father says, “What do you
want?”

And I said, “I’d like a Chrysler 72.” That’s
a 1928 Chrysler, which was a super car. It was
about a fifteen-hundred-dollar car. And we
have one in the Collection. In the day it was
just one of the outstanding cars of all time—a
’28 Chrysler 72 Sport Roadster. I said, “I want
a Chrysler— ’28 Chrysler 722’

And here, plenty of money, and he said,
“Well, who do you know that has a—who of
your friends has a Chrysler?”

And I said, “Well, nobody.” But I said,
“Paul Grade has an Auburn Speedster,” which
was a little better than a Chrysler.

And he said, “Paul Grade isn’t really—he
isn’t a close friend.” He said, “What does Todd
Brown have?” And let’s see Todd had a Model
A Ford. “What does Harry Clamp—” that was
another good friend—’’What does Harry
Clamp have?”

“Harry Clamp has a Chevy.”

“What does Felix McGinnis have?”

(He’s a friend from Venice that I’d forgotten.)

“He has a Star.”

“And then what does Brad have?”

“Brad has a Ford.”

So he said, “Well, they all—” he said,
“That’s classy.” He said, “You could have
any of those.” But he said, “Those are your
friends. You should have what they have.” So
that’s when I got the Model A Ford. And at
the time it was very disappointing. And then
later I could see—it I’d’ve got the Chrysler
72, I would’ve lost Brad and Todd—I mean
I wouldn’t’ve been as close. And we were

extremely close. But we all got kicked out of
school the same time. [Chuckles]

We had an apartment near the high school,
which for no reason—I don’t know why we
got the apartment—just to be smart. We all
had a little money, and I guess other kids had
apartments. And of course, it was a no-no. It
was just about a block from Hollywood High
School we got this apartment. I think there
were six of us went in and paid, maybe it was
eighty dollars a month or seventy or sixty—I
don’t know—but it didn’t cost too much. We
could afford it for five or ten dollars apiece.
And we’d go up there after school and just
hang out, you know. We didn’t have any girls
there or anything. Just the guys and smokin’
cigarettes and maybe drinkin’ a little bit.
And we did smoke and drink a lot there.
I remember at one time, word got to the
principal immediately, of course. So he sent
a detective, who looked like a detective, you
know— you knew instantly. Anyway, we were
there. And this one day, the only day of the
three months we had the place, we were all
behind in our classes, and there was an exam
the next day or so. And we said, “Damn it!”
and we were real serious about passin’ the
exam. And we were gonna study here and
there; and no, no—it was too noisy. And we
weren’t all there, but there, were four or five
of us. “Let’s go up to the apartment and really
hit this.” It was all the same subject, and we
were really workin on this real hard.

So this detective come up and knocked
on the door and pretended to be lookin’ for a
number or somethin’, or he wanted to borrow
a cup of sugar or some darn thing. And he was
a real nice, friendly guy; and he said, “Can I
come in?”

And “Yeah, come on in.” And we moved
our books over. “What do you want?”

And he didn’t see what he expected to see,
so he kinda made a bum excuse and left. And

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

we go, “What was that all about?” And wed
kinda forgot it.

So then we got word indirectly later
that—this teachers name was Foley, the vice
principal; and he really hated all kids. He was
one of those guys that—the principal was real
neat, but Foley was just a—he loved it when
he could catch you doin’ somethin’, I honestly
believe.

So this detective came back to Foley, and
Foley said, “Did ya find the apartment?”

And “Oh, yes.

And “Did you get in?”

“Yes.”

“And what were they doin’?”

“Studyin.” [Laughs]

So then I think we got that from the
detective ’cause Foley was-4t wasn’t what he
wanted to hear! But anyway later we did get
caught. And everybody got kicked out of
school.

But this was prohibition time.

Oh, yeah, but liquor was just, you know,
no problem at all. Pay your money and get
your liquor.

Oh, there was another one, too. There was
an Eddie Phillips and an Eddie Scanlon, who
are both dead. They were neat guys. Eddie
Scanlon was a real go-go-go-go-go-go. And
he was very small in stature. Even when he
was fifty years old, he was five-feet-two, which
he didn’t like at all. But he always dressed real
neat, and he always had a little money, and he
was really the swinger, you know.

So we were goin’ somewhere one night, I
remember. One afternoon we had our girls,
and I don’t know whose car or anything.
But there were two or three guys and two or
three girls, and we were goin’ to a football
game or somethin’, and it was all legit. And
we were goin’, and we’d run out of cigarettes.

And we all smoked. So we stopped—I guess
I noticed it first, and I was driving. So there’s
a drugstore. I pulled up, and I started to get
out. And I was much younger; I was two years
younger than Eddie. I think Eddie was the
oldest. But he was so little, and he was really
a man of the world, or thought he was. So I
started to get out, and he said, “No, no, Bill!
I’ll get ’em.” So he ran into the drugstore; and
he’s five minutes, ten minutes—you know—I
think, “What happened?” We’re all lookin’ at
each other.

So pretty soon Eddie come out like this
[head hanging], and he said, “You can go get
’em, Bill. They won’t sell ’em to me.” [Laughs]
So here I go in—two years younger but a foot
taller—and just, you know—”How many do
you want? Here you are” [laughs]. Yeah, little
Eddie Scanlon. And Eddie Phillips—that was
a real neat guy.

How did you all get kicked out of school?

Oh, I think we were warned on the
apartment, and I think maybe we switched
apartments. Then we did have one real bash
there. And I think I missed that. It wasn’t
by being a good guy—just doin’ somethin’
else that day. Everybody got real drunk and
passed out and all. And the police came,
and it was all—. So they got kicked out, and
I was—another kid and I— maybe Brad or
somebody—were kicked out at the same
time. They kicked us all out. There were
maybe eight of us. But our defense wasn’t
as serious as the others, and we knew it. But
everybody had to bring their parents. And
old Foley—you know—he just really hated us
all. So I remember my father had to go down
with me, which wasn’t pleasant at all—when
I had to take my father to school. And what
was the principal’s name? He was a real neat

g u y-

William F. Harrah

Anyway, when we got into it and all
eight kids were there and the parents and
everything and—I wish I could think of the
principal—it doesn’t matter. But Foley had
reported all this to the principal. Then one
by one they—the parents went in and talked
to the principal, then came out; and then
the next parent went in. The kids—we all sat
outside. And I may not be getting this exactly
right, but it is generally correct.

So anyway at my turn it was just my father
and I and the principal. I remember that. So
they went in, and they closed the door. And
it wasn’t really too serious, but it was kinda
serious. I didn’t know then whether I was
gonna get kicked out or not.

And so they didn’t close the door quite,
and I was over here. So it was fifteen minutes,
twenty minutes, forty minutes. I thought, “Oh,
brother”—you know, the longer it goes on,
the worse it is. Finally I couldn’t resist; so I
went over, and I kind of tiptoed. And I think
the door’d swung a little, so I could really—I
could hear, and if I wanted to, I could see in
the room.

So I kinda peeked around the corner, and
my father was I saying, “And as I’ve explained
to you, Principal So-and-so — whatever his
name was—’’that’s why I feel a trust deed is
far superior to a mortgage.” [Laughs]

And the principal said, “Well, Mr. Harrah,
I’ve never had anyone explain it to me so
lucidly. Thank you very much.”

And then later I asked what happened.
He said, “Well we talked about you for two
minutes, and we talked about real estate for
forty minutes.” But I didn’t get kicked out. I
got campused or something—I forget—didn’t
amount to much.

But I think Brad got kicked out—he did.
Harry Clamp got kicked out. I think maybe
Eddie Phillips and I were the only two—
everybody got kicked out. And they had to

go to another high school. They couldn’t go,
though.

I left out some things like on the South
Beach, which I talked about, where I was
raised and learned to swim. And I said that
my sister and I and the neighbor daughter
was— were the only kids there, which was
true; but then it started building up. And I
had a very close friend down there named
Felix McGinnis, which I think I mentioned
earlier.

But he and I had—my first car was ’26
Chevrolet roadster. And Felix got a car at
the same time. He was a year older than I
was, but we were real close friends. He got
a 1925 Star roadster, and we dressed ’em up
quite a bit alike. And we used to ride around
and take both cars. We’d go somewhere, just
the two of us, but we’d take both cars. And I
remember mine was prettier and [chuckling]
had better acceleration, but he had about
one mile an hour more top speed than I did.
And we’d get to racing, which we did quite a
bit—flat out. And he would always beat me,
which was—why I didn’t hop it up, I don’t
know.

Felix was a real interesting kid. He had
an older brother named Jim McGinnis. In
fact, I was at Felix’s wedding; he married—a
very social, big wedding in L.A.—the biggest
wedding I’ve ever been to in my life. And Jim,
the older brother, was kind of quiet.

But prior to this, before the wedding, in
the hills—in the sand dunes down there—
and there were ducks down there. And Jim
was hunting one time—duck hunting—by
himself. And I think he shot a duck, and it
fell, and he ran through the sand dunes to
get it, like you do, I guess. And he tripped
and fell, and his gun went off, and it hit him
in the jaw. And it blew the—it was a wonder
it didn’t kill him. But it blew his jaw of f, but
it left the hinges, fortunately.

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

So he was—the doctors and all—and he
didn’t die. But he needed this plastic surgery—
this is in the ’20s— which was pretty new. So
in St. Louis they had apparently a hospital or a
doctor that was very good. So Mrs. McGinnis
and Jim were back in St. Louis except for short
trips for several years. And they took his ribs
and all and built him a jaw. And, course, there
were scars. But he grew a beard, and so he
didn’t look bad—he was a red-headed fella—
except for the beard; it was very prominent. I
never cared for beards too much. But he’s alive
today—he looks real—looks fine. He has it
neatly trimmed, and beards are in style, you
know.

And he was an interesting guy. Felix
kind of dropped out. I know Felix; I see him
maybe once every five years or something, if
I see him. And Jim I see at least once or twice
a year. We just became close friends. But I
admired Jim since Felix was kind of a goof-
offer. But Jim, he got behind; because of all
his operations, he couldn’t go to school. And
I’m sure he studied on the side.

But anyway, he got out after these four
operations, and he was maybe eighteen, to
twenty years old. And then when he could get
around—and he had no high school diploma
or anything. And as I said, he studied on the
side. Anyway, he went back to high school,
and he did four years of high school in a year
by taking the tests you know. Then he went
to—I think he took an entrance exam and
went to Stanford. And he was just as good as
you can do at Stanford. And he was—what
was he takin’? Yeah, medicine. He was gonna
be a doctor because he got so intrigued with
it and all his operations, so he did. And he,
as quick as you can squeeze it in, became a
full-fledged doctor of medicine.

And he started in that; and he said, “Oh,
this isn’t for me.” So then he went in psychiatry,
and I don’t know how much study that takes.

But anyway, he’s one of the leading
psychiatrists in southern California now. He
has movie stars and all—I guess it’s, you know,
fashionable to go to one whether you need it
or not. He’s just doin’ super good.

And he’s a funny man. He’s one of my
best friends— cause this phone [points)
could ring any time of the year— he has all
my numbers, which is fine with me—and
it’ll be Jim McGinnis. And he seldom calls
(he drinks once in while) unless he’s been
drinkin’. [Laughs] And he’s one of those
people that—you know, he slurs his words
but very slightly. And his mind is perfect. And
he is very witty. And he will call and talk for
forty-five minutes. And one of those people—
usually you get a person like that, and I want
to get off the phone in two minutes. But Jim, I
enjoy the whole forty-five minutes, and I will
actually just write a note to Cindy [secretary],
you know—”I’m tied up for an hour,” while
I’m talking to Jim.

He comes up once in a while—once a year.
We just have a wonderful time. And I admire
him so much.

And I’ll put one more on the McGinnises—
well, two more. Their father was the manager
of I think it was Central Hardware in L.A.,
and he was one of the nicest men I ever met.
And as I said that [the] wife and Jim were
back East, so it was Felix and Mr. McGinnis.
I always called him for years. That was the
family, and they had a—I think, a housekeeper
or something. But he was manager of this
hardware company, and it was the biggest
one. It was impressive just to go—wholesale
hardware; they sold to hardware stores. And
because of my friendship with Felix, why I
got permission—and right away—to go to
the hardware store and buy anything I wanted
and at the wholesale price—at their price.
And I could—no limit—and then I could go
and say, “I want twelve screws and four bolts”

William F. Harrah

or somethin’ like you do at your retail and
get it. I remember it was so wonderful with
hoppin up the cars; and I always wanted some
odd pieces or tools, and I could get ’em. Mr.
McGinnis was so great.

What was the other one on them? Oh
yeah. Felix was married to Maizell Hart
[McGinnis]. Her father owned a bunch of
hotels. She was very wealthy. And it was [a]
fashionable wedding. There were ten ushers,
and on and on and on and on, and hundreds
of people, and the Wilshire—Figueroa
Street in downtown L.A. It was an exciting
wedding.

And then afterwards they had a reception
at the Ambassador Hotel, which was the
hotel. So the wedding was at two o’clock or
something, and the reception went on—it
was four or five o’clock, And then there
was dancing, you know; it was absolutely
just—and the flowers and the orchestra
and on and on and on. So we were drinkin’
and—everybody—and the bride and groom
disappeared, of course. And so it wound up
Jim McGinnis and I. Everyone had gone—all
the guests—just Jim and I. And there was a
lot of champagne left, so he and I were just
sittin’ around drinkin’ the champagne and
talkin’ and laughin’, havin’ a time. And of
course, the waiters were all gone, but the—
maybe the captain and one other in charge
were waiting for us. And it could’ve been
midnight or something— I don’t know—but it
was very late; and the tables were all covered,
and they’re waiting for us! And so they started
wrappin up the champagne, you know, and
kinda— “Okaygentlemen, goodbye [gesture,
shoving out].

And so Jim said—and he was pretty
drunk—he said, “What’s the matter?”

I said, “Well, it’s no more champagne.”

“Well, why not?” you know, “I’m the
groom’s brother. Why can’t I?”

“I’m sorry; the party’s over. Mr. Hart
just said to let it run till nine o’clock, and it’s
midnight.” And “No way,” and so on and so.
The words got tougher and tougher.

So Jim rose up like this [very straight], you
know, and stood up, said, “Okay! I can’t—” he
said, “Come on, this is a public institution; can
I buy a bottle of champagne?”

So you could see the guy’s mind working.
And he thought, “Oh God, maybe if I let him
buy the champagne, I’ll get rid of him.”

So they went, and they come in, and they
have the champagne and the ice bucket. And
they took the lid of f with a white towel and
all, you know, and poured it, and they gave
Jim a bill for twenty dollars or something. It
was wonderful champagne.

So Jim does this [searches pockets], you
know. [Laughs] So he turned to me, and he
says [whispers], “Can I have twenty dollars?”

And I got a big kick out it, and I guess I
was as drunk as he was. And I slipped him the
twenty, which everybody knew what was goin
on; and I think I said [whispers], “Aren’t you
gonna tip them?” [Laughs] So I- think he gave
'em twenty-five dollars. He still remembers
that, and I still needle him about it once in a
while. But he’s a neat guy.

Then all through high school I didn’t
study. In my group it wasn’t fashionable. In
math I still did good ’cause I liked it. But
everything else you didn’t study, which my
kids don’t do; and I understand why they
don’t sometimes. We just didn’t study. It was
a no-no. You didn’t study. You were a sissy or
something.

And I had the teachers, and—’’William,
you’re a smart boy. Why don’t you do your
work?”

And “Oh yes, Miss So-and-so, I will—yah
dee da dee da.”

So, “William, you want to go to college,
don’t you?”

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

“Well, yeah, sure.”

“Well, you don’t get your grades, you can’t
go to college. And you’re gettin C’s and D’s,
and you should be getting As and B’s. Dee da
dee da,”

And so it was ’26—I was the class of ’29.
So in the tall of September ’28—yeah, that’d
be the class of ’29, yeah— for some reason
I woke up while one of the fellows that was
kind of on the edge of us, not really—there
were several— and one was goin’ to Stanford,
I remember. And I said, “Well, how are you
going to get into Stanford?”

He said, “Well, I got the grades. No
problem.”

And Stanford I always—to this day I
would’ve loved to have gone to Stanford. I
don’t know why, but

And then another boy that I kinda
respected was going somewhere to an east
coast school or somethin’. “So how are you
going to—.” He had the grades.

And I thought, “My God, I guess you do
have to have those grades.”

So I took a look at it, and I was just
terrible. So then I turned around completely,
and I worked real hard, and I added—carried
extra—like you’re supposed to carry four or
five, and I carried six or seven. And I made
up all but just oh, maybe not a year and not
a half a year—between that—I didn’t have to
get in a major college.

So there were several of us in the same
boat—Brad and Todd and my girlfriend
Pacquita Yriondo. She was oh, a Basque—
yeah—Spanish Basque, whatever they call
it—real neat girl. We’re still [chuckles] friends.
She wound up at—we all went to California
Christian College, which was a little school.
That’s when UCLA was on Vermont, and Cal
Christian was right across the street, and they
only had maybe hundred and fifty students.
And it was a Christian—I mean there is a

Christian religion—it’s just called Christian.
And Cal Christian was their college, which is
still going on, only it has a different name now,
and it’s moved and everything, of course.

But Cal Christian you could get in—we
could get in with our kind of poor grades,
but still it was accredited. And any grades
you made at Cal Christian were accepted at
UCLA. So then I just aimed my subjects at
getting in UCLA, which I didn’t want to tell
’em I was doing. So I took some other stuff,
but some subjects I didn’t even hardly bother
with them— maybe quit along the way. But
the credits I needed, I got it— took calculus,
too—. And then the following year then, I got
to UCLA. But it was kind of hard work, and
it made me appreciate

Kind of funny at UCLA. At Cal Christian,
among other things I took was Spanish. I’d
taken Spanish at Hollywood. I kinda liked
it, and it was rather easy. I’d even taken it
in Venice Junior High School. It was easy
because so many of the signs and things in
southern California—La Jolla and all— are
Spanish.

So I got to Cal Christian. I did need some
language more for UCLA or for college, so I
took Spanish. And it was maybe third year
or somethin’—second year. And I liked my
Spanish teacher. He was an older man. He
was—but then to me he was very old, but
today I’d guess he was sixty—kind of heavy,
and— but he had Spanish background; I think
he was part Mexican— spoke beautifully. And
he was a very conscientious teacher, which
you’ve seen, you know. He really wanted us
to go. So when I would do my classes good,
he would just be so proud of me. And I would
feel it, you know. And it got where I didn’t
want to disappoint him, and my friends—I
was still playin’ around, you know.

“What are you doin’?”

“I’m doin’ my Spanish.”

William F. Harrah

“Well, what are you doin’ that for?”

“Well, I don’t want to disappoint Professor
Izguierda,” or whatever his name was.

So I was just super good in Spanish. And
I loved it, and he liked me, and the more he
liked me the harder I worked, and I just—.

So it came near the end of the year, they
had a Spanish play, and the Spanish class put
on the Spanish play. So I had the lead, and
it worried me ’cause I’ve always had trouble
talking in public, so I died a thousand deaths.
“Oh, gee whiz! I don’t want all those people
lookin’ at me.” But because I wanted to please
him and that I did know my subject, why
I said I’d do it. So I had the lead, and there
was, I think, three acts, and I was in every
scene, every act, [laughing] and did most of
the talking! And I learned—I knew my part,
and I did it very well, too. I was real proud
of myself. And my girlfriend Pacquita was
my daughter in the play, which was fun. And
then when we had it, why my folks all came
to watch Bill. That was a great experience.

But then I think after Cal Christian, to get
in, in the fall of’30, to get in UCLA I needed
one more what do they call ’em—credit? So
I went to UCLA in the summer school; I
could get in the summer school. And I took
earthquake, which was really interesting, and
then some form of math that I just loved. And
the earthquake was interesting, too. And still
today I can talk about California earthquakes
a little from just what I learned in that six-
week summer school. I liked both my classes,
so I got As in that. So then I had a running
start at UCLA.

But by then I did—see, what was that—
still playin’ around a little bit. And once I got
in, then I kinda let down. I was in college, and
I still didn’t know what direction I wanted to
go. I started out mechanical engineer, which
I liked. And the physics at UCLA I can still
remember those. The physics out there were

unbelievable—almost like you’d see on outer
space today—just things I didn’t know existed.

But my old bugaboo, chemistry—and I
was way behind in chemistry. As you probably
know, when you get behind in a subject and
you don’t have the groundwork, then it’s
pretty hopeless. And it was a must all the way,
which—I said, “Well, you’re a mechanical
engineer. Well, and metals have chemical
properties; you would know which is right.
You should know.” And because of that weak
point, I was kind of losin’ heart cause I knew
that. And I cheated on my chemistry, which
got me behind; and I got caught, which I knew
I was gonna. I really had about given up on it
anyway—you know.

So about the same time I was really in
a quandary. I thought “Well, I still love my
math,” and I was still going at that. But I had
no direction. And then I got into the Circle
Game, which was kind of fun. When it did
get semi successful in September, then, and
I had to stay out of school, I was pleased that
it didn’t bother me a bit to stay out and make
a buck because I just wasn’t doin’ too good in
my engineering career.

Well, tell about your beginnings, then, with
the Circle Game. How did it get started ? You
had started to tell a little earlier about your
father having the setup that you didn’t quite
agree with.

Yeah. Well, the Depression hit and the
panic in what was that—October, I guess, in
’29, and because of the trust deeds, business
and the property values just fell terribly. So the
fifty-thousand-dollar piece of property with
the twenty-five-thousand-dollar mortgage
with a five-thousand-dollar trust deed became
a fifteen-thousand-dollar piece of property
that my father owned with a twenty-five-
thousand-dollar mortgage. So even if he—

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

and he tried to save; I remember how hard
he worked. And he would maybe just give
something away to get a little money to make
the payments on this. But he and Johnny
Moore had this property all over L.A.—I guess
forty or fifty or eighty or something like that.
I remember Id been all over L.A. where he
owned something.

So anyway, overnight he owed all this
money and it was just a tragedy. And he tried so
hard to do it. So, eventually he lost everything—
all of the property except our home. And all he
had left was this lease (he didn’t own it) on a
building in Venice on the Venice pier right at
the corner of the Ocean Front and Venice pier,
which was a wonderful location. And he had to
lease it. It was quite a large building with various
concessions that faced on the oceanfront—that
was a walk and a pier. It was the one around the
corner. And like there was a hot dog stand and
a shooting gallery and a little restaurant and a
pool hall, and a milk bottle game where they
threw the balls and hit the milk bottles, and
various things like that.

And about the same time there were
some vacancies. It was Depression. This was
in ’32. So I knew nothing; I was down there
occasionally but not much. I didn’t care for it
any more cause Venice had kind of gone to
pot. The Bingo games I’d heard of, and I wasn’t
too interested in that. But then there was this
Circle Game, and it was in our building—or
the building he had to lease. I’d forgotten that.
And that was called—the Reno game was
the name of the game; that’s a coincidence.
And it later became Circle, and it was then
a very small room. And the man was doing
pretty well; not too good, but he was makin’
some money. My father was intrigued with
the game. So he put one in; this wasn’t talkin’
to me much, just kind of second. He was
[in] Venice and the game and all but no
[discussion].

Then, how I happened to get in it, I think
it was just I was lookin’ for a summer job
or something, and he said, “Well, hey, you
want to work in the Circle Game?” And I
went down, and it was within the week or
two of opening, or month. Then [I] looked
at the other one, the Reno game, which
was doing—. And then I studied, of course.
When I found I was goin’ to work and got
real interested in how it worked and all,
then we did open. I hired Todd Brown and
Brad Miller [chuckling] to work for me, and
Harry Clamp—my buddies, none of which
worked out very good, not because they
were—that just wasn’t their way to go. They
were interested in other things.

But we opened on the Fourth of July, and
it was not successful. The Reno game was
successful. Then there was another one on
the pier that had opened about the same time
we opened, which was way out in a very poor
location.

The reason the Circle Game wasn’t too
successful was we gave pots; we gave a carton
of cigarettes or multiples of that, depending
on how many players you had and how much
money you took in. At that time a carton of
cigarettes was worth a dollar and a quarter,
so our games would be a dollar and a quarter,
two and a half. Three seventy-five’s a bum
number, but five dollars would never be a big
game. We sold playing cards, which I won’t
go into the details of the Circle Game. It was
similar to Bingo, and you could play—it cost
you twenty-five cents. You got five cards.
Or you could play two sets, which was fifty
cents. And you could win—it wasn’t too smart
playin’ fifty cents to win a dollar and a quarter,
but when we got up to two and a half or five,
then a lot of people played two sets. And it was
a fun game. You rolled a marble down, you
hit your own number, and you drew playing
cards. And you could, if you got lucky, you

William F. Harrah

could get a pair, which helped you, like in
poker.

But it was a group game, and any group
game, which a Bingo game is, if you have
house players or shills, which are players that
work for the house, only it’s a big secret (only
it really isn’t a big secret), why, then they play
when the play gets slow and the shills win the
game, why, the house is protected, which is
true, except the shills who play ruin the game.
The people see shills in the game. And you
fool the public for about two days or one day,
why then they don’t play with you any more.
They don’t like you; they say your game’s
crooked.

We had shills with my father’s insistence.
He thought that’s the way you had to run. I
had my school chums that would come down;
I’d meet ’em around the corner, and I’d give
’em money to come in and play. Then we hired
some local people; it just didn’t work at all.
We weren’t foolin’ anybody; we had to pay
the shills. The Reno game had a few shills and
they were doin’ fair because they were the first
one. But Carpenter—that’s the one way out on
the pier—he had a very nice, pretty game—
terrible location—and he had no shills. And
he was just doin’ great. He had all the Circle-
type game players in Venice playing with him
because it was a square game, which I could
see and anyone could see. And I showed it to
my father, and he couldn’t see it or just didn’t
want to see it. And I’d say—and we really had
some talks. I said, “If we get rid of the shills,
we’re gonna do fine.”

He said, “You get rid of the shills, you’re
gonna lose your shirt! Suppose you only have
two players at twenty-five cents apiece; and
you’ve given away a dollar and a quarter, you
lose seventy-five cents a game,” which is true.

But the point he missed is that other
players walk by, and they see two players in
there; and they know they’re real players. They

say, “Wow! Let’s get in this game,” which is
true with any Bingo game. Any Bingo player
knows when there’s a small crowd, the pots
are just the same, you have a better chance,
so they rush in and play. So it just takes care
of itself.

He couldn’t see that, and so it was really
touch and go just to make a hundred dollars
a week out of the darn thing by paying all the
shills and everything. It was very—we had
a lot of worries about it. And then finally,
why the time came when he was fed up. And
I was—we were gettin’ in so—I don’t know
the exact words, but I did buy it from him
for five hundred dollars and fired all the
shills immediately—or just didn’t fire ’em,
just didn’t rehire them—and ran the same
game, the same location, and everything.
And word got around instantly we had no
shills.

And I remember the first day it was kind
of scary. We had six players and seven players
and eight players. But it didn’t last too long,
and we had ten players and fifteen players, and
every player was a legitimate player. And so
you were givin’ away a dollar and a quarter,
and you’re takin in two and quarter, why, you
were makin’ a dollar a game! And that was
fun! I mean, when you had the shills, you
had to keep track of who won what and all,
and then straighten up later, and just all the
complications. And this was just so simple:
you ran the game and paid out so much, and
you took in so much, and the difference was
what you made. As we did have a pretty good
location. Then it started to go, and it started
makin’ money.

And then I improved it. I bought some
good stools [laughs]. It was about the first
thing I did! And here and there, and I put in
some drapes. There were no drapes. It was just
an empty storeroom, like you’d take an old,
abandoned cabinet shop and put a game in

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

it. And I put some drapes in and some pretty
stools, and it didn’t look too bad.

The first year it made—let’s see, that was
September of’32. The winter was a little scary
because of the weather, but we went through
the winter. I have a book somewhere that
shows what we did, but I think we made
around a hundred—hundred to two hundred
dollars a week, and which was pretty good.

And then in the spring—I think January,
February, or something—none of the games
were legal. It was a “game of skill,” and you
had a license from the city of Los Angeles.
It was a “game of skill” like a bottle game or
anything—the same kind at a license—only
it was called a Circle Game, or it was called—
they didn’t call it Bingo; they called it Tango.

But then you’d get an ex-district attorney
runnin’ f or reelection or something, he
would—or the chief of police or someone
would—close ’em up, and which they could
do. And because they weren’t really legal, they
would arrest you on a gambling charge.

Well, they closed the Bingo games. There
were a whole bunch by then in Venice and
Ocean Park and Santa Monica and Redondo
and Long Beach. At one time there were oh,
twenty— well, at this time in ’33, I guess it
was, or ’34—there were maybe twenty Bingo
games operating in southern California, and
they were all closed. And they tried to close
us; and that’s where my father came in, being
a lawyer. And he—I remember they walked
in, and he said, “What are you guys—crazy!”
to the policemen.

They were shook up; they just thought
we’d close up like everybody else did. And
they said, “Well, yes. We’re closin’ all the Bingo
games.

So my father said, “This is no Bingo game!
This is no way a Bingo game!” And he had all
the—and really threw at ’em. “We don’t use
baseballs; we use marbles. We don’t use Bingo

cards; we use playing cards. Bla bla bla bla bla
bla bla.”

And you could see the police officers were
taken aback. They just didn’t know what to do!
So they said, “Well uh, oh, uh, well, excuse
us,” or something. We’ll go—we want to talk
to—we want to make a phone call.”

So we kept going. And then in the
meantime there were politics involved. And
my father made some connections. I know—
not too familiar with what they were—not a
big payoff or anything, but just some—he had
some political friends over the years; and plus
he was an excellent lawyer, plus he hired the
best. He had [Harold Lee] Jerry Giesler, which
was the best lawyer in southern California—
maybe a little later down the road, but he got
the very best. And he just buffaloed ’em with
all his—you know—’’I’ll get a writ; I’ll do
this and that!” So they didn’t close the Circle
Game. And by then the Reno Game had
closed, and I believe Carpenter had—guess he
had— he’d closed because of his poor location
when we started doin’ good.

So for several months we had the only
game operating in southern California, and
it was open from—we kept our regular hours.
We opened at, I think, one o’clock, and we
ran till one o’clock—twelve hours—with our
thirty stools. And it was full from the time
we opened till we closed. And we didn’t
knock ’em off; we ran the proper games. The
crowd’d get bigger, and more money came
in. We played, but I remember we made—we
did it three months—we made twenty-five
thousand dollars or somethin’. It was just a
whole new world, you know. But of course,
by then everyone had—like the Robbins with
their Bingo parlors—closed. They didn’t like
that at all. So they (which you can’t blame
’em—I’d’ve done the same thing)—so then
they opened, although they weren’t the Circle.
But they opened with marbles and with cards

William F. Harrah

and copied our game. And they opened, and
others opened, and then gradually, why, it
tell back. But I remember that one year, that
year of I think it was ’34, I made between
twenty-five and fifty thousand dollars, which
was an awful lot of money. So then when it
got down to competitive—. In the meantime,
there had been two Bingo parlors put in our
building—or my father’s building—or the
building he had the lease on. There was a
small Bingo parlor called Jones, a man named
Jones. He’d had a chip game there which was
a penny roulette game, which was semi-legal.
But it kind of went out, and Bingo was in, so
he put in this little Bingo game. He had it full
of shills. It wasn’t successful.

On the other side was the Plaza game,
which my father had an interest in with a man
named—can’t remember. That was a big game.
That was almost competitive with Robbins—
not as good, but pretty good. And they used
shills—the same old thing—and it wasn’t too
successful. And then they got closed, and then
the other Bingo parlors got closed. But with
the stake I got with the twenty-five to fifty
thousand there, I bought out Jones and took
out the shills, and it was an instant success just
by taking the shills out and cutting the price
of the cards.

And then the Plaza—the big one—it was
two for a dime. The biggest places were ten
cents a card, but Plaza was two for a dime.
And it was very nice—nice drapes, nice stools,
and no shills there. And it was a—it wasn’t an
overnight success, but it was successful. There
was a bigger game; it was a little tougher to get
goin’. But within the year we had the—or I had
the Circle Game and the Vogue—I changed
the Jones place to the Vogue just ’cause it was
a name. And the Plaza was already named. I
left that name. So then I had three of them.
And they went quite well. Makin’ money. By
then, the Circle wasn’t classed by itself; it was

just another game. So then when they closed
them again, everything went, includin’ the
Circle. And that happened over and over, and
it just got where it was—that’s when I started
thinkin’ of other places.

So it was difficult, which—it was political.
If the district attorney said you could run, you
ran; and if he didn’t, why you didn’t. And for
years I’ve kind of blamed it on Santa Anita
racetrack. And I have no proof, except Santa
Anita always opened on Christmas Day and
ran for two or three months. And we usually
closed, and we got open with chips and with
darts and with balls, and we’d change the
game, and we’d get open again. And we’d take
it to the police commission and get an okay
and get our license and open up. And then
we’d get closed, and we changed the game
and opened again—on and on—three or four
times.

But around the middle of December, the
twentieth of December, we’d get closed. And
it was never directly Santa Anita, but, you
know, post hoc ergo propter hoc, or whatever it
is. By then we had a mailing list, and we’d get
Christmas presents prepared for our players
and all, invite them down, and then we’d be
closed.

The real sad thing was our help, which
my father could never understand. Help
to him were just like apples or somethin’:
you needed a dozen, you went and bought
a dozen. And but then again, help isn’t that
way. They have to be good, and they have to
make a living, and you just can’t put ’em out
of work. But he could never see that at all.
Just when we opened up, he said, “Get some
help.” And when we closed up, “Pay ’em off,”
you know. And like they were walnut pickers
or somethin’. And it just didn’t work, and it
was oh, extremely difficult. That’s another
reason. We got up to fifty, sixty players with
the three games, and that’s when Bob Ring

Early Life, Education, First Gambling Experiences

was in the picture. He was very helpful. And
we’d get all lined up and get our help all lined
up. And then we’d get goin’-. Some people
weren’t so good, and we’d make changes and
get goin’. Then we’d get closed up. And that
would always look like you’re goin’ to open
next week. And so a guy’d say, “Gee, I can go
to work for Douglas.”

And I’d say, “No, wait, wait, wait, wait!
We’re gonna open next week.”

And well, you know, “I haven’t anything
to eat.”

“Okay, here’s five dollars’

So you try to keep sixty people, you know,
ready; so when you open tomorrow, you
have sixty people with nothing sure. It’s very
difficult. And that was a big headache, really,
it was just awful.

And then when I came to Reno, which
was just on a spree— no thought of goin into
business—and I saw they were runnin’ here
year and year out, I thought, “Gee, that looks
good.” But how I came up here was with some
school chums again. And—well, no, that’s
kind of an interesting story. I was goin’ with
a girl that worked in the game, who I later
married—Thelma. And some old friends
from Hollywood High School was Noah
Dietrich’s daughters. And there was Kay and
Elizabeth. And I was a good friend of Noah
Dietrich’s. He was a super guy.

But Kay Dietrich was goin’ with a boy
named Johnny O’Hara, who—let’s see, this
is ’36, we came; I’m gettin’ down the road a
little, but—no, ’37. But how I came to Reno—
we were still runnin’ the games and gettin
closed—runnin’ the game, gettin closed. But
in ’37 we were closed, and we were all good
friends, and Johnny was a fraternity brother
at UCLA, and he was Kay’s boyfriend. And
we’d all double-date all the time. So we’re
double-datin’, and Kay’s mother—what was

her name? Noah and—she was a wonderful
lady.

She and Noah had split. And she’d
come—it was a big shock—’’The Dietrichs
are separated! Wow!” So she came to Reno;
came to Reno for a divorce. And Kay and
Elizabeth came with her, and they stayed at
the Golden Hotel. And she got her divorce,
but then Elizabeth was talkin’ about Reno—
how neat Reno was, and da da da da da.

And I said, “Well, I’ve been to Reno. I was
there with Brad and the Model T.”

“Well, you haven’t seen it lately. They got
all the gamblin’; they got Bingo, they got this
and that. And oh, it’s fun.”

So this vacation, we all had a little money,
and we came to Reno—four of us. And I
remember that just like it was yesterday. I
had my Lincoln Zephyr and drove up and
parked right out in front of the—. We got
into Reno—and, “So this is Reno.” And, see,
that was—I don’t think Harolds Club was
open—there was an old—you remember—the
Block N and that stuff. Well, right next to that
there was a bar—a real cheesy bar. That’s in
the book somewhere. We went in there, and
it was terrible—I mean bum liquor, you know,
and just bum atmosphere. And we said, “Wow,
this is Reno?”

So then we went around to the Golden
Hotel, and we got rooms, and we went in the
bar there, and it was a different world. There
was a bartender there, I think named Howard
Leavitt or something. But three bartenders I
got to know over the years very well. And he
was just so—everyone was so nice to us at the
Golden bar. So oh, it was a different, different
thing.

So Johnny later became a doctor; he was
a wonderful old guy. But he couldn’t gamble
worth a darn—never could his whole life. He
died. And he and I had an agreement when
we left L. A. I think we each had two hundred

William F. Harrah

and fifty, or maybe five hundred dollars. So we
agreed wed just—nobody would worry—like
you’re havin’ dinner, somebody would pay—
no big deal. You’re havin’ drink, somebody
would pay. And when we got back to L.A., if
we had any money left, we’d split. And if one
guy got broke, the other fellow’d give him
some money and no counting—just give him
some money.

So we came up, and we went in the
Golden. And then I think we went to the Bank
Club—or maybe we went to the Bank Club
first—and just got up to the bar, and Johnny
was over in the Crap game, and he didn’t
lose his full five hundred, but most of it. And
before we went to bed, he’d lost all his money.
He always did. He was very unlucky, and he
did everything wrong—one of those kind of
guys. So I gave him some money, and then it
got to be a joke; only Johnny didn’t think it
was too funny.

But we were here for three of four days,
and we ate, we went to the Town House, and
big dinners. And everywhere we went—fancy
dinners, stayed at the Golden, had nice rooms,
and drank all the time, and tipped everybody.
And I kept givin’ Johnny money—givin’ it to
him. And when we got back to L.A., I think
we—I had—or between us—say we started—I
think a thousand is too much. It was more
like six hundred, three hundred apiece. And
I think when we got back to L.A., we had five
or six hundred dollars between the two of us.
And we spent a lot of money and then just had
a wonderful time. So I remember talking—or
all of us, you know: “That’s a place! Look at
that; they don’t close the bars, and they don’t
close the games, and they leave you alone, and,
you know, the police were nice—everybody
was so nice.” And no penny ante laws like they
had—two o’clock if you didn’t close your bar;
it was a big thing in California. We just loved
it.

And there were Bingo parlors here, of
course; and I looked at them, and I thought,
“Gee whiz, I wish I’d’ve gotten one of those.
But it’s too late. You know, I should have been
here last year.” And there was one that opened
where the Reno Print is. And they had just
opened, and they seemed to be doing quite
good. And then there was the Reno Club,
which was a Japanese place. And there was
a Fortune Club, and there was the Heart
Tango. And that was it. And there was one on
commercial Row that was just limpin’ along.
I could see that was no good. And then this
one down here; that one closed. But anyway
the one Center Street looked pretty good. And
then we went back to L.A., and then within
a month I got a letter from somebody that
wanted to know if I was interested in that
place that had closed up. And it was a real
nice-lookin’-’-nice fixtures. And I said, “Wow!
For sale?” Yeah, it was for sale. So I came up
and bought it real cheap not knowing it was
a terrible location. And that’s a whole long
story.

Gambling in Reno,

1937-1946

In September [we] opened in [Venice]
’32, July Fourth and—let’s see, how old
was I? Twenty. Yeah, that’s right. Yeah, I
remember. September, I was twenty-one, I
remember. That was very impressive to me
being twenty-one, which was kinda funny.
I was always interested in politics—well, my
father was in politics—not that I wanted to
be, but—you know. And so this was ’32, and I
was twenty-one in September, which was just
as close as you can get that I could register.
And I voted my first time in November of’32.
And I remember I voted for Herbert Hoover
[laughing]. And then I voted—my father
was a Republican; and I was, of course. So
then it was Hoover and then—who’s the next
Republican? Landon, Willkie, and who was
that mayor of New York—Dewey. I voted for
every one of’em. And then, course, I voted for
Eisenhower; and he got elected, and I couldn’t
believe [laughing]! I was so excited—”My
God! I got a winner!” [Chuckles]

In May of’37, [I] came up, looked around
and then the one Bingo parlor—and then
later I got word that it was closed and for sale,

and I came up and made a deal on it. And I
remember—yes—oh, what was his name?
Oh, Bob Douglass. The collector of internal
revenue, yeah, in the post office building. He
was the landlord. And he had a lot of clout
politically. So I needed a license—there was
just nothing there. I just got a license. I don’t
know, he might have got it for me, which it
was no big deal in those days. But I remember
I liked Bob very much. He was a car guy,
and he was very friendly. He kinda liked me,
maybe because I was a car guy.

But he was goin’ to Carson one time,
and he had a new Ford, and Fords would go
pretty good—there he took delivery up here at
Fovelock’s. That’s when they were up here, you
know—well, they still are [chuckles]—’’And
he’s goin with me. I gotta go to Carson.”

And so I went with him, and we got this
new Ford—two miles on it. And as we drove
it out, Fovelock or whoever said, “Bob, da
da da,” and then he turned to me. And he
says, “You know Bob Douglass and how he
drives?”

And I said, “Well, I’ve heard.”

William F. Harrah

He said, “Well, he believes in flat out all the
time. This is a brand-new car, and it should
be broken in. He’s not gonna do it, so would
you—he’s gonna say he’s gonna, but I know
he won’t—would you kinda remind him on
the way to Carson?”

I said, “Okay, sure.”

So we started out; and as soon as we got
out of town, it was ninety miles an hour.

And I said, “Oh, Mr. Douglass, Mr.
Lovelock—

He said, “Oh, the hell with Mr. Lovelock!”

And I said, “Yeah, but a new car—it should
be broken in a little.” I knew somethin’ about
cars.

He said, “Nah, nah, these Fords,” he said,
“they’re built pretty loose,” which some of’em
are.

And I said, “Well, yeah, but it might freeze
up on you,” which means it gets hot and blows
up.

And he said, “Oh, what the hell if it does;
I’ll get another one.”

But it didn’t. It just ran beautifully to
Carson and back. And he was going to see the
governor, which I’d never met the governor.
And I forget who the governor was then. But
anyway he went in and walked right in on the
governor, and said, “This is Bill Harrah. He’s
a .tenant of mine in Reno.”

“Oh, how do you do? How do you do?”

And Bob says to the governor and me,
he said, “I have to run down the hall for
somethin’. You guys get along.

So here am I twenty years old or somethin’,
and my governor is sittin’ there; and I thought,
“What the hell do you say to the governor?”
[Laughing] But he was really nice. I wish I
could remember his name.

I think it was [Kirman]. But he went out
of his way; he could see that I was uneasy, and
he was just so nice. So fifteen minutes—or it
was twenty minutes you know. And I got to

be kind of comfortable. Mr. Douglass came
back; I wasn’t dyin’ like I thought I would.

But somethin’ Mr. Douglass did that was
awfully nice. When I got the place, I bought
the previous owner out. And I got the lease on
the place, which was a short lease, but it was
maybe two or three years to go. And I think
it was two hundred or two hundred and fifty
dollars a month.

Then we closed it up, and I continued to
pay the rent and then bought another place,
which I’ll go into; but this is a Bob Douglass
item.

So I got the other place and moved
equipment and all, so all I had was a vacant
building there that I was payin’ two hundred
dollars or two-fifty. So I went to him, and
he’s the kind you could call up. And I went
to see him, and I said, “Mr. Douglass, as you
know, I moved ’cause the location—” I said,
“Good location but not for Dingo,” da da da
da.

He said, “How ya doin’?”

I said, “Pretty good.”

He said, “That’s fine.”

And I said, “I’ve been lookin’—and I
advertised it for rent.” I said, “I’ve been lookin’
for a tenant to sublet it.” I said, “I haven’t been
able to find one. But,” I said, “I’m doin’ the
best—I’m not goofin’ off. I’m doin’ the best I
could.”

And he says, “Oh hell, Bill.” He said, “You
didn’t do any good there.” He said, “You’ve
been real good.” He said, “You don’t have to
pay us.” He said, “Let’s just tear up the lease,”
which he did, which was very nice.

Yeah, he was a classy guy. He knew when
we started the Horseless Carriage Club here.
He was so interested in old cars that we
followed up—we were friends for years—not
real close, but we liked each other. He had
pictures, and there are pictures in the Sunday
supplement sometimes of Bob Douglass and

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

his Stutz Bearcat. And they had races around
here in the old days, and Bob won a lot of’em.

I remember one time he told—I think we
went to Sacramento once for some reason
cause he was real big politically.

Anyway I think we went to Sacramento
once—yeah, we did— to see the governor, I
guess. But anyway, when we were goin’ over
the mountain and we passed the sheds that the
trains run in, you know, and I’d heard about
somethin’ that he’d had an accident up there
one time. So I had read that he had wrecked
his car up there in the tunnel—the train. And
so I knew him well enough then when I said,
“What happened?”

He said, well, they had a road race from
Sacramento to Reno, or Reno to Sacramento.
And so he was in that. They got up on top of
the mountain, and he was doin’ good, and
this unexpected snow came, so the road was
filled—of course, there were no snow plows
or anything—but it was impassable. And he
wanted to win that race; that was important.
So he got on the railroad tracks and went
along and through the tunnel or the—what
do they call it—the snow shed.

Yeah. And [chuckles] a train came
along and goin the other way—a freight or
something. And so Bob jumped out of the
Bearcat and hid behind something. And
course the train hit the car and ruined it.
And it stopped the train and everything—big
excitement and all. Bob wasn’t hurt at all.

And so everybody’s all excited and big
news. And the railroad, of course, was pretty
put out about it. And they started fussin with
Bob, So he sued ’em for wreckin’ his Stutz
Bearcat [laughing], which he told me—he
said, “Well, I sued the bastards for wreckin’
my car!” He was a fun man,

But anyway, then we moved to—let’s
see, the Bingo parlor on—there was one on
Commercial Row next to the Wine House, but

it was real shaky. And when we opened over
there, it was—we took just enough business
that it put them out of business.

They were runnin on a real shoestring. So
we knew them somehow, and we bought their
lease. And why, I don’t know. It just looked
better than the other one, I think, and maybe
to get the equipment. Maybe for six hundred
dollars, we got the place or something, and
just two of us. You know, money wasn’t very
big then.

Anyway, we got it, and we closed over a
year, and it was fall. I knew when there was
snow on the ground, it was very bad. So then
that winter, I spent the winter tryin to raise
some money, which I did a little bit, and
moving the equipment from Center Street to
Commercial Row. So then in May or June we
reopened on Commercial Row. And that was
called—I think we called it the Plaza Tango.
And the reason we called it Plaza was we had
a Plaza game in Venice, and we had the deck
of Bingo cards that said “Plaza” on them; and
I discovered that Commercial Row on the
other side is called “The Plaza’—Plaza Street,
I guess. So it kind of gave me an excuser and
it saved some money. So we opened there, and
by then, we’d learned quite a bit.

When we opened, there was the Fortune
Club which was two cards for a dime. It was on
the corner over there. That was Joe Zemansky.
And then there was the Reno Club, which was
where Harolds Club is now. In tact it was 232
North Virginia; I can remember that. That
was the Japanese. Freddie Aoyama was the
manager. He’s still in Reno. And I forget the
owners. They owned Bingo parlors all over
the West. They had ’em in Venice and Santa
Monica and all, and I knew them from down
there. They were pretty good operators. There
was the Reno Club and the Fortune Club.
They were two for a dime. And then the Heart

William F. Harrah

Tango, which was also where Harolds Club is
now—it was right second from the corner—
that was two for a nickel.

So when I opened on Commercial Row,
we went two for a nickel, six for a dime, which
was an old gimmick we learned at the beach,
which worked real good. And of course, the
hot cards don’t cost you any more, and you
have plenty of cards. And it’s a big attraction.
Nobody ever plays two for a nickel; they play
six cards for a dime. And Howe, who had the
Heart Tango, he stayed for two for a nickel,
which was kind of a mistake. So we competed
with him. And we kinda had a “Bingo war,”
gave pretty good pots. It wasn’t a real crazy
war, but it was just—we went strong, and we
gave drawings, and we did all sorts of things.
And we increased our business pretty good.

I remember I read Mr. Ring’s thing [oral
history], and we opened in June or July;
and Mr. Ring didn’t open it, but I had a very
unsatisfactory manager here. Mr. Ring was
still in Venice; we had some things down
there, and they closed up. So Bob came up
here, and it was—he came up in the summer
of ’38— has been here ever since.

That was October or something. We’re
still bangin’ away, and there was no heat in
the building, which our competitor knew. So
then we had to watch our money. So we got
the heating people, and we—course in those
days we did it all ourselves. You called, and I
could even see what the guy looked like. But
he did a lot of work for us later that was in
heating and that kind of work.

So he came by—’’Well, what can we get?”

“Well, you can get just a heater in the
corner for,” you know, “thirty dollars, and you
get this and that. But you can get a furnace—
basement, the whole bit, for six hundred,” or
nine hundred,” or something.

“Ooh, that’s a lot of money!”

“Well, you don’t have to pay it all at once.”

But it was a first-class job. So we bought
it, and I’m sure Ring was in on the decision,
or at least the thinking behind it. And it
was that we did need heat, and we wanted
it— you know—we wanted the people to be
comfortable. They’re not gonna play if they’re
not comfortable. And also, while there wasn’t
the psychology of getting Howe out because
we weren’t that far along, it did work that
way because we got a feedback. You know,
the kids would all see the other dealers and
drink together and all. And we got word back
right away that Howe was surprised when
we bought this heater that boy, we were in
business. So he had to take us seriously, which
he did.

Then we competed with Howe very
strongly all winter. And I didn’t tell you
about his selling out? Well, see, I had so many
interviews with these newspapers, forget who
I’ve talked to.

We opened on Halloween in ’37. And I’d
looked at the other parlors here, and they
ran—well, at the beach we ran five-dollar
games, ten-dollar games, and fifteen-dollar
games at two for a dime. And you’d run—
your regular schedule was two fives and a
ten, two fives and a fifteen. You just ran that
continuously.

And up here the same places, they were
running six-dollar games at two for a dime.
But they ran maybe six or eight six-dollar
games; and then they’d run a ten, maybe, or
a fifteen. It wasn’t exact. So being from out of
town and being a kind of a know-it-all, maybe,
I thought, “Well, that’s a dumb way to run a
Bingo parlor. We’ll run the way we do.” And
we did: two fives and a ten, two fives and a
fifteen. So we did. We tried it that way, and it
didn’t work. The Reno players were used to
the six-dollar games they liked. And five isn’t
six, and then they would complain about it.
“Why don’t you—?”

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

“Why? We were runnin’ a ten every couple
of-”

“Oh, poohy on that. Just run—.

And so we were a little stubborn about it,
maybe longer than we should be. We stayed
with our fives and our tens. And then we
had the markers, which I still prefer the fact
we made round markers, that just fit perfect.
And they used lima beans here, and the old
customers were used to the beans. And,
in fact, they used to—’’Why don’t you use
beans?”

“Well, we like the markers better.”

And course, we were outside to start with,
you know; and they were lookin’ at us—’’Who
are you guys?” Plus the fact that it got to be
the point where we did develop a few regular
customers because the business was so lousy,
they couldn’t help winning and makin’ some
money. But they’d bring their own beans!
They’d bring [laughs] a whole box of beans
and push ours away and put ’em on there.

But anyway, we opened up; and it wasn’t
good at all—just bad right from the start—
bad, bad, bad. And I’d go around look at the
Jap’s, I always called it (the Reno Club). And
the Fortune’s right across. Fortune didn’t do
too good. They didn’t run it as well as the
Japs ran theirs. But the Fortune would have
a pretty good crowd, and I’d think, “Well, I
wonder how it is on Virginia Street.” And
I’d go over and look, and they’d have a good
crowd. And I remember saying, “The place
to have a Bingo parlor in Reno is on Virginia
Street,” ’cause head for head, the Reno Club,
which was the name of the one on Virginia
Street, was always ahead of the Fortune. And I
credited location ’cause the Fortune Club was
a beautiful place, but it was also managed by
what’s pretty bad—the Fortune.

But anyway, we ran—October thirty-
first—we lasted six weeks, which is the
middle of December. And we were losing

money just about every day. And I didn’t have
a big bank roll at all, so I would either go to
L.A. to get money, or I’d call my father and
he’d wire me some. He didn’t have much. He’d
get it here and there, you know, two hundred
dollars at a time. And it’s actually a—Mr.
Ring may have told you that there were days
we opened at two o’clock, I think; and it’d be
noon or one o’clock we’re waitin’ for the wire
from L.A. to get the two hundred dollars that
we can open up with. But we never missed
an opening. We always—but it was scrapin’
pretty hard.

Then there’s a lot of funny stories, too, like
one time Mr. Ring—he was very ingenious.
And one time when I was somewhere—I
might’ve been out drinkin’ or somethin’ and
not payin’ attention—and he didn’t have any
money, and we had a couple of slot machines
in the place. They weren’t set to play; they
were just there, you know, like some slot
machines still are where they’re just—you
know, on your way out you put a nickel in,
but nobody stands and plays them. But they
would pick up a few nickels and dimes. And
anyway, he robbed the slot machines, as we
say. He emptied them and changed it into
money, so we could open up. He was super
in those days— well, he still is.

But anyway, it was real bad; but then when
that opened, we advertised a lot and all. So
this little place that was real shaky over there
next to the Wine House, which then he was
just on a shoestring—so we opened, he didn’t
last three days; he just closed. And it became
for sale for six hundred or whatever, and we
bought it and then moved.

How did you advertise?

In the newspaper, yeah.

That was kind of an innovation at that time.

William F. Harrah

Yeah, a little bit. They advertised, but
mostly courtesy ads. But then we advertised,
yeah. And you put signs in your windows;
you’d have like a grocery store that you have
somebody make the signs. But it was fun. It
was—I mean a lot of worries, but you know,
you’re young, you’re hustlin’, and drinkin’ a
little bit.

I was convinced without any question as
soon as I saw Reno that—and we did know
how to run a Bingo parlor; if we got the right
location, no reason we couldn’t operate. So
it was just a question of getting the location.
And I didn’t realize—which is very difficult
in a new city. Oh, I don’t care if you’re in
the theater business or gas station business
or whatever. There’s a pattern there, and it
looks so great; and you—”Oh, gee, look at
this lot!”—and you go grab it. And all those
stations are over here; and when you find
there’s a reason there, or the people are used
to going there. It’s, you know, you can’t beat
a newcomer. And of course, sometimes a
newcomer can see a lot of things the old-
timers can’t see. They just got blind from—you
know. But also you got to respect—there is a
way that town is laid out. There’s a reason for
it. And you better really study that before. Just
don’t go in—”Oh my God, here’s a vacant lot!
Let me grab it!” You can sure get fooled.

Well, then we opened, and we competed
very strongly with the Heart Tango and Ed
Howe. And we counted his players; he didn’t
pay too much attention to us, but then he was
very independent. But then there was a Tom
Smith, which was his manager there—a nice
fellow. He became a friend of mine. And Tom
would—well, I gotta meet Tom after work.
And it was oh, maybe kind of secretive, but
not too much—like we’d go across the street
and drink or somethin’. And he and I were
friends— or became friends—and Ed Howe
didn’t really have any friends. But I cultivated

Tom, but Tom was—it’s a funny story. He
never really worked for us in the pit, as we
say. He worked for us in Bingo for a while,
but then he moved around.

But for the last ten, fifteen years he’s
worked for us in Las Vegas, and he’s our—
what do you call ’em? There’s a word for it.
And he just fits in perfectly. He loves the job.
He goes to all the hotels in Vegas and all the
downtown, which is a lot of ’em now. And he
sends a daily report on how the new Bingo’s
doin’ and how they’re doin’, or how the new
show at the Caesar’s is and how many people
Frank Sinatra had last night, and really a
very—he loves it.

Kind of an intelligence report.

Yeah. He’s kind of a snoopy guy, anyway.
Everybody likes him ’cause he’s friendly, and
he kids around a little bit. And he goes around,
and it’s very valuable. For a while there some
of the guys wanted to discontinue it. They
said, “What’s—” you know, “that’s a friend of
yours. You’re just tryin to help him out.”

And I said, “Well, boy, you’re not readin’
those good,” which they weren’t. And then
maybe we directed him a little better. But like
a new star will open; you see ’em on TV, and
oh, they’re pretty good, but how will they do
in nightclub? It’s not the same. So ninety-nine
times out of a hundred— except for maybe
John Denver or someone—they opened in
Vegas. And so we have a perfect showcase.
So they open in Vegas, and we get a report—
but it’s in the paper, of course. But usually
[a] newspaper review s written either very
negative or very friendly—and not necessarily
that’s the way the show was—but the reporter,
which you have to admit will happen, is
the friend of the owner or something. So
it’s—you know, it’s the stinkin’ act. But he

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

can’t say “stinkin’,” so he says, “Oh, it’s—” you
know—”da da da da da.”

But Tom Smith says it was stinkin’, you
know. So II laughs]— and they’re lookin’
around for somebody else and all that. So he’s
extremely valuable that way.

It’s always fun to see a person that’s in a job
that they like. And he was married; his wife
died. He’s alone now. And he’s as old as I am,
or maybe a little older. But he’s bustin’ around
that Strip and then got his little counter in his
pocket, and he has a little spending money—
not a lot— but he knows every maitre d’
and every captain; and he can actually get
(I don’t know if we should put that—). Well,
information that I don’t think they’d want us
to know, we’re getting. He’s—but all those
years—what is that? ’Thirty-eight to ’77—.

Do the other casino owners keep people out
like that?

They do a little, but I don’t know if
anybody does it as extensive. We do it in Reno,
too, of course. We do it at Tahoe. And we have
a daily, and it’s always the same time so that
there’s no—you know, you can’t do—we’ve
had ’em doin’ hit or miss. So yesterday they
had a hundred slot players, and today they had
two-fifty. “Well, gee whiz, look at that! What
happened?” But this was at ten in the morning
and noon or so, you know. So we have to—you
have to do it right. So we do it. I don’t know
if there’s any people do it as thoroughly as we
do, but there may be.

And we check the Sahara at the Lake, and
they have stars up there that sometimes won’t
play Vegas. And we get an instant feedback;
we have a real good man up there. And well,
like quite often, Sahara’s gone into—well,
they try everything, which is okay. I believe
in tryin things. But they will hire rock groups
(and you know what they are) and they will

fill the theater restaurant or almost fill it—
thousand—but they’re teenagers. And so
they—I guess they charge ’em; maybe they
make money on ’em. But the casino dies; it
just—. And they will actually run the good
players out. But we get an instant feedback.
Then there are some names that we never
thought of playing, and they will play ’em,
and then we’ve checked, and nine times out
of ten, it is a bunch of kids.

But we competed with Howe and ran
stronger, and we got stronger and stronger.
And Tom would tell me—he was workin’ for
Howe. So he was loyal there. He would tell
me a little bit, maybe a little more than he
should, but he still wouldn’t tell me everything
I wanted to know. But he would tell me a little
about Howe’s moods and all and that he—I
think that’s where I got the feeling he wanted
to get away—’cause he’d made money. He’d run
his place real good for ten years or so. And I
found out, and it may have been from Tom—.
I was getting ready to negotiate—or I wanted
to buy him out, but I didn’t have any money.
But if I could get the Heart Tango, then I had
it made.

So I thought about it an awful lot. And
I’m not sure of the sequence, but I believe
that talkin’ to Tom, I learned that the old man
didn’t really like the Bingo or competition.
See, before, he’d had the only two-for-a-nickel
in town, and he just had it his own way. And
now he had some competition, some serious
competition. And it was hard work, and he
had to kinda change things, and we ran longer
hours, he had to run longer hours. And it just
wasn’t—he didn’t like it.

And then I learned somehow that he had
been thinkin’ about retiring, and he was the
kind of man that couldn’t leave, It was his
place, and he couldn’t delegate. So in ten years,
he’d never taken a day off—one of those kind

William F. Harrah

of people, you know. He didn’t really trust
anybody So you imagine after say ten—may
have been fifteen or maybe eight years—but
work every day for that long that you’re gonna
be up to here.

So he bought this trailer. That’s when they
first started making real fancy trailers, and
it was—when I’d learned what kind it was,
I was taken back on my heels ’cause it was
an extremely expensive trailer. Maybe it was
only ten thousand dollars then, but it was a
super—you know—thirty feet or something.
So then he had this, and he wanted to go; and
he couldn’t go because he was tied up with the
place. So it was just—you can kinda get the
picture, he wanted to get away.

So anyway I finally went to see him. And I
called him up—and it took a lot of nerve—but
I called him up.

“Ed, Bill Harrah. Can I see you?”

And he said, “Sure, Bill! Can you come
over in an hour?”

I said, “All right.”

So I went over, and he had a little bitty
office, and it was in this storeroom, and
there’s a stairway—went upstairs— the hotel
upstairs—and o’ course, the stairway cut into
the room a little bit. He had a little office under
the stairs which was pretty good, but you had
to go in and sit down [ducks] as you went
in, you know. But I remember it, I walked in
there, and everybody was amazed to see me.
And then when Ed and I went into his office,
why, word was “bzz bzz bzz”— all the dealers
and all the customers, too. “What’s goin’ on?”

So I sat down, and “Ed, nice to meet you,”
da da da. And I said, “Would you consider
selling this place?”

And he said, “Oh,” he said, “I don’t know.”
He played it pretty cool. He said, “I don’t
know.” He said, “I do pretty good here.” And
he said, “I don’t know, I don’t know.” tie said,
“Well, let me think about it.”

So “Okay.” So I was going to see him the
next day or something.

So I went to see him. “You want to sell it?”

“Yeah, I’ll sell it. Twenty-five thousand
dollars.”

And so I said, “Oooh, oooh.” And I was
never too good; why, I’m a lot better now
at negotiating right from scratch without
thinkin’. So I said [deep voice], “Well uh, I’ll
have to think about that.”

So I left. And I remember I went across the
street to the—can’t remember the name of the
bar. Bob Ring would remember. That’s where
we hung out. And I sat at the bar, and I started
drinkin’; and I thought, “Gee, that’s terrible. If I
could just get that place, I’d have it”—you know.
And “Darn guy,” and “it’s his place. He can ask
what he wants for it, but if he just would sell it.
He can’t make any money there with us runnin’.
And if he’d just sell it to us at a low price and
we could close the other one, we could move
in there and run it. I could make—we could all
make some money. He’d be down in Arizona
with his trailer; he’d be happy. And just the only
problem to the whole scenario is his twenty-
five-thousand-dollar price.”

So I don’t know if it was that day or the
next day—I’m not sure—but I was drinkin
real good. (That’s the wrong word—heavy.
But still in those days when you’re young, you
can drink an awful lot and still think and walk
and everything.) And I drank and drank, and
I got my nerve up, and I called Ed up, and I
said (I was kind of tough, too)—I said [gruff
voice], “Ed. Bill Harrah. Can I see ya?”

And he said, “Yeah, come on over.”

So I went over, and boy I was—and I’d
really gotten kinda mad at Ed because of my
thinkin’: if he’d just go sell me his place and go
pull his trailer, and I could, you know— he’s
stoppin’ me. It’s almost like he was selfish.

So I went over, and I went under the stairs
with him; and I says, “Okay, Ed, I’ve thought

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

about.” And I said, “I’m not gonna give you
twenty-five thousand dollars for this place.” I
said, “I’m gonna give you three”—which took
a lot of nerve! “And it’s not gonna be cash; it’s
gonna be a thousand dollars down, a thousand
dollars in thirty days, and a thousand dollars
in sixty days.” And I really thought he’d throw
me out.

And he says, “Hmm, hmm.” He says, “Let
me think about it.” [Chuckles]

So I thought, “Oh-oh.” I said, “Okay.
When can I call?”

He said, “Call me tomorrow.”

So I said, “Okay.”

So I went out, and I thought, “Gee whiz,
he didn’t throw me out! At least he’s thinkin’
about it.”

So I called him the next day. And I called
him at—I restrained myself. I didn’t call at six
in the morning; I waited till about one o’clock
or somethin’, and I called him. He answered
and he said, “Come on over.”

So I went over, and he said—he didn’t
ask for more. He said, “Yeah, I think that’s
okay. That’s a deal.” And he said, “Who’s your
lawyer?”

And I didn’t have a lawyer then, and
there was—. (Hmm, what’d I do? Oh yeah,
that was how it happened.) Bob Douglass’s
attorney was William McKnight. And I got
acquainted with William McKnight through
Bob Douglass, and then McKnight became
my attorney. That was it.

Okay, so we went to McKnight, which was
fine with Ed. He didn’t—I said, “Do you have
a lawyer?”

And he said, “Yeah.”

And I said, “Well, mine’s McKnight.”

Then he said, “Oh, I know—” was it Bill
McKnight?

He says, “Well, he’s good enough for me.”
He said, “You don’t need my lawyer; let’s just
go see Bill.”

So Ed and I went up to Bill McKnight—
and that was across the street upstairs—and
went in there—’’Okay, a thousand dollars now,
a thousand dollars in thirty days, a thousand
dollars in sixty days.

So McKnight said—he said, “This is a little
awkward representing both parties. But,” he
said, “I’ll keep it straight.” So he said—and he
turned to me—’’Bill,” he said, it’s not to your
advantage. This is to Ed’s. But,” he said, “I have
to ask what’s the security for this three—you’re
payin’ a thousand dollars down. What’s the
security for the two thousand dollars?”

And of course, I didn’t have anything, and
I went, “Ooh, uh, mm.”

And I’ll never forget—Ed spoke up and
said, “Oh hell, Bill,” meaning Bill McKnight,
he said, “He doesn’t need any security.” He
said, “When he gets this place, he’s gonna close
his other one, and he’s gonna make it three
times over.” He said, “No problem. Just leave
it out.” So he left out— which really—you
know, I—. Of course, I liked him very much
for sellin it to me for that price; but I never
forgot how nice he was on that ’cause he could
have screwed it up. But he just wanted to get
out of town so bad.

So I think we signed the papers; I paid
the thousand, and then I took over the next
day, something like that. And he was of f in
his trailer—just “good-bye.” And then we did
all that we planned to do. We closed the other
place, and this was instant money. And then
we fixed it up. He had crummy little stools,
and we put nice stools in; and the whole thing
went again. And we made money just from
Day One there.

I’m tryin’ to think of the landlord’s name.
Oh—Mark Yori. He was a funny old guy! And
he was our landlord on Commercial Row in
that little—next to the Wine House, he was
the landlord. And Bob Ring used to get the
biggest kick out of him because the first of the

William F. Harrah

month the rent was due, and Mr. Yori would
be there. Not the second, he was there the first.
And of course, I guess he figured we maybe
weren’t gonna make it. But Bob was always
a kidder, and so he would— I remember he
would get Mr. Yori so we would be in like—we
opened at two o’clock, so we’d get there maybe
at one to, you know, get it ready to—maybe
one-fifteen sometimes. And no matter when
we got there, Mr. Yori’d be waiting at the door.
So we, then—Bob Ring’d usually unlock it, but
I was around, of course. And he’d say, “Oh,
hello, Mr. Yori! I-low are you?”

He said, “da da da da da,” and he wouldn’t
know it, and Bob would have the check. And
“so on, so on,” and do everything else, you
know. Mr. Yori’d just stand there.

And he would finally get everything done,
but there’s nothing else, and Bob would go
over to him: “Oh, Mr. Yori—” shake hands
again or somethin’—’’nice of you to come out.
Anything we can do for you?” [Laughs]

Mr. Yori—”My rent! My rent!”

And Bob—”Oh, that! Oh, yeah!” And
then he’d—oh, he’d really put—and then he’d
go in the office alone and fumble through the
drawers and try and—you know-.-”Hey Bill,
where’s the rent?”

Then I got in on it, you know. “What
rent?” [laughing] I says to Yori.

Then we moved around, and it was the
Chase Building there. But Mr. Yori—he
owned about every other piece of property in
town. And I knew that because about every
place—and I’d looked at other locations, and
Yori was always the landlord. So I’d go in to see
him; I got to know him pretty good. His office
was down in the next block on Commercial
Row. He owned the whole block.

So I went—when we moved around to
Howe and bought him out—. So then Chase
owned the building, but Yori was the agent.
So then you had to deal with Yori. And I

remember I spent so much time ’cause Yori
was as slow as molasses—was the slowest man
I ever saw. And no matter whether it was his
property or someone [else’s], he wanted every
dime he could get. And he didn’t like long
leases. He wanted to be able to raise the rent.
So I think at the Heart Tango there, we’d get
three years—was all we could get. And it got
to be—I think we were there quite awhile—
or maybe two years. I’d get a lease and agree
upon—then it’d take about a year before I’d
actually get the lease in my hand. But after I
got the new lease, it was agreed upon.

Then I would start working on an
extension. I knew that much. So, like say it
was two years; and maybe after the second
month, I would—”Mr. Yori, I want to see you.”

“Okay.” And I’d go over to his little hotel
there and go upstairs; he had a little office, and
I went in. I said, “I gotta have a longer lease
now.”

And he said, “Well, you just got a lease.”

“Well, yeah, but I gotta have—gee whiz,
you know. I want to know what’s—.” That’s the
story that you tell your landlords, and nobody
ever believes it. It’s that you’re gonna remodel,
you’re gonna do this, you’re gonna do that. I
said, “I have to do that and that and that in
order to get my money back. I have to have a
longer lease,” you know.

“Well, let me think about it.”

And I would—all those years I saw Mr.
Yori at least two or three times a month
just tryin’ to get the lease. And so finally
we would—like I had two years to go, and
maybe it’d take me a year and a half to finally
agree upon a two-year extension. And then
it would take another six months to a year
to actually get the extension in writing in
my hand. And then I’d start again, So it was
just a constant—. And I remember saying to
myself and probably Bob Ring, “If I can ever
get a long lease or own the property, am I

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

gonna do it.” It just was that I was neglecting
my business, really—. That was a real good
lesson there, learning that.

But anyway, we were there some time, and
next door was the Reno Club, the Jap’s place.
Then there was another one up a little ways—
Robbins. They had one there; they didn’t
amount to much. They kinda came late. And
then there was the Fortune Club, and then
there was one over there on the corner that a
fellow from south of Long Beach—there were
Bingo parlors all through southern California
by then. And I knew where they all were; it
was my business. So I went around and looked
at ’em, and I met a lot of the owners. I didn’t
go in, but I just—you got acquainted, you
know, one way or the other like “where do
you buy your cards?” or “where do you buy
your beans?” or anything.

But there were some operators, and it
was south of Long Beach—a little bitty town
there—and you had to be politically okay in
this little town; I didn’t even know it was there.
And he figured it out and got one or two Bingo
parlors there. And he could run bigger pots or
something than they could in Long Beach. So
he was doin’ pretty good. And I got acquainted
with him a little bit and admired him as a good
operator. And later, they got closed.

In the meantime, we’re up here; we’re
goin’ pretty good, and then we’re—got the
Heart Tango. And there was Reno Club and
the Fortune Club. Well, he opened a Bingo
parlor on the corner over there across—that’s
where Don’s Drug is. He put a Bingo parlor
in there, which is the wrong side of the street
and all. He was a pretty good operator. And
he opened up. Then we competed a little, but
he only ran a month or somethin’. And he
could see it was no good, so he said, “To hell
with it,” and I think he went back to southern
California. I haven’t seen him in years. He had
some money, so—.

But there it sat, and there’s nothing more
dangerous than a fully equipped Bingo parlor
sitting vacant with a sign in the window, “For
sale or rent,” because someone comes along
and rents it and opens up. So it sat there,
and we didn’t have the money to handle it;
and then I didn’t feel either if I had it, that
maybe—I mean knowing what I know now,
when they closed, I’d’ve immediately gone to
the Reno Club and the Fortune Club and say,
“Hey, let’s buy that place and make a drugstore
out of it.” Or if they didn’t want to go, then
I’d’ve done it myself. I’d’ve been money ahead;
but, you know, you didn’t think that way then
or didn’t know that much.

Anyway, we did nothing; and it sat there.
I think there was another operator down in
there and tried it and zero. It was still there,
and then a fella came along—I don’t know his
name—he was Russian—and we called him
the mad Russian, ’cause we didn’t like him.

And there was a Mrs. Carey, and she was a
lovely little old lady. She’s like on the TV, if you
wanted to put somebody’s grandmother—
sweet, old grandmother—that’s what she
looked like—you know—kinda chubby and
round cheeks. She was a wealthy woman
that had come here, and I don’t know if she
came here for a divorce or how she got here.
And the mad Russian and I—well, Mr. Ring’d
remember his name if it matters. He was a
promoter, and he looked like a Russian. His
clothes were—well, like a hustling Russian.
He wore his hair very long, which wasn’t
fashionable then. He had a kind of a flowing
tie like an artist, and his hat with the brim
tipped up on one side and down on the
other—that kind of a guy. And he kissed
hands and clicked heels and things like that.

And Mrs. Carey—he’d promoted her, and
she thought he was just the neatest thing ever.
She was really stuck on him; and he was forty
or something, and she was sixty or something,

William F. Harrah

and just a dumpy little old lady. But boy she
was stuck on him! And whatever he wanted,
he got. And I think we got acquainted—they
came around and played Bingo and—. And
of course, you size up your customers, and
they were very good customers. But we also
caught on she had the money, and so we were
super nice to them, of course.

Then he promoted her into this empty
Bingo parlor over there; and fine, if he wanted
it, he got it. And they opened it up, and he was
the manager. It was her money, of course. So
he just did absolutely crazy things—like the
pots were, two for a dime, six dollars. So he
went to maybe two for a dime, eight dollars or
ten dollars or twelve dollars—he didn’t care.

And so they ran. So it was instant turmoil
in the Bingo business. And he was hurting
everyone—of course, the place was full; but
they still—wed checked ’em very closely—and
still with their full house and their big pots,
well, they just weren’t makin’ it. And then
they were gettin’ robbed, too, ’cause he didn’t
know anything about the business, and the
dealers can steal if you don’t know how to
watch ’em. So we found out enough that she
had unlimited—I think we checked with the
bank, which was kinda hard to do, but, you
know, “What is Mrs. Carey’s account?” And I
think we found she had a couple of hundred
thousand dollars in the bank or something—
just huge amount, you know, for those times.

And then we got into her other—. Either
her father or her husband or her ex-husband
(he probably died) had invented— well,
had invented—but was either the founder
or the principal owner or the owner of the
Molybdenum Company of America. And
that’s a very rare metal; it’s only found certain
places. And it’s extremely valuable, and when
you mix it with iron, you know, you get
molybdenum steel, and that’s the strongest.
That’s why the Ford Model T and the Wills

St. Claire cars and all were such quality cars
because they had molybdenum steel in them,
and it was very expensive. Anyway, it was a
zillion-dollar company, and she owned a big
chunk of that. So we thought well, she can go
forever.

So while they were running—and it was a
very, very difficult Bingo war—toughest one
we ever had. Everybody got into it, and it was
really touch-and-go then—it was just day-
today. And with our little two-for-a-nickel,
six-for-a-dime, we were hurtin’ real bad. And
of course, the two-for-a-dimers, they stayed
with their schedules or tried to compete with
him. We competed only on a half scale, which
was fine. And course, we had the places full—
all the places in town were full, and cards like
that [spreads arms] because of these huge
pots. And there were four Bingo parlors in
Reno full every day, but everybody was losin’
money—the pots got so big. So it was just a
question of who lasted.

Well, we found out that Mrs. Carey wasn’t
gonna go broke, and then we were hopin’ that
they would split up or somethin’. And she just
thought he was neat. And we thought, “Well,
how can she stand him when he’s losin’ all
this money for her?” and just didn’t bother
her a bit—. He’d say, “I’m needin’ some more
money,” and she’d go write a check—no
problem. So it was really scary.

So the three of us—it was Joe Zemansky
and Freddie Aoyama (worked for the Reno
Club) and me—and we worked together.
And finally it got so desperate that we met
daily— “What are we gonna do next?”—and
we all did the same thing. And we went to the
[city] council—’’Can’t we get,” you know, “get
it stopped?”

And they said, “No, we believe in—you
know—once we get into that, then we’ll have
to tell ’em how to run their Craps and all,”
which was a pretty good point.

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

But we were tryin’ everything and talkin’
to everybody we knew and workin’ and
workin’ and workin. And I remember Freddie
Aoyama, who’s still here—and we’re friends; I
see him once in awhile. He sells tires or sells
somethin’ automotive, and I’ll see him in the
garage once a year. And we say, “How do you
do? How do you do? How are ya?” His wife—
and he had a real neat wife.

But Freddie was a little arrogant, and
kinda cocky; and they had a lot of money, the
Japs. And all they needed, they just could call
Japan or L.A. and get more money.

And Joe Zemansky was kind of on a
shoestring—I didn’t know that. He had a
big fancy place, but he didn’t have too much
money. And we all started cornin’ out—who
had what and everything.

So anyway, we re workin’, we’re workin’
every angle we could. So finally we thought,
“We can’t beat ’em with money, we can’t this
and that,” so then we got somebody to get
to the Russian. And we didn’t bribe him; he
was interested in something like a dance
school or something that she didn’t like for
some reason. We got all this out, you know,
which you can do—snoopin’ and everything.
But there was something he wanted to get
into she didn’t want him to get into, and so
we found that out. And so we talked to him
that he could—if we could get this thing
kind of straightened out, we wouldn’t be
against maybe helpin’ him get some money
to go into this other thing. And of course,
he was fed up with her, you know. He didn’t
like her at all, and she’s hangin on him every
minute, you know—just kind of a hard way
to make your money. So he was susceptible
and listened.

So anyway, we made a deal, finally, that
if he could talk Mrs. Carey into lowering the
pots—that’s all we asked to get back to close
to where we used to be—then he could have

this job or this somethin’ somewhere. And it
was down the road, but it was—’’Okay.”

So anyway, then we agreed that we were
gonna run these kind of pots. “Okay, how we
gonna do it? How are we gonna keep—I know,
we’ll draw up an agreement”—that was it.
So— who was the lawyer that was over there
that was a wonderful man? Upstairs in those
days? Kearney?

Bill Kearney. He was Joe Zemansky’s
lawyer—yeah—and we all respected him, and
so he became the lawyer for the three of us.
And we would meet, and any problem, we’d
go see Bill Kearney—da da da da da. And it
was right across the street, too.

So anyway, we were in Bill Kearney’s off
ice. And the Russian and me and Freddie
Aoyama and Joe Zemansky—”Oh, we have
an agreement, Mr. Kearney. We want to—”
da da da da da.

Okay, fine,” And he’s drawin it up, and he’s
got his pencil and paper out, and he’s getting
notes for it. “Okay,” so on, so on, so on, so.

And we’re all broke then—I mean Joe and
I are broke. And Freddie still had plenty of
money. And the Russian and Mrs. Carey, they
had plenty of money—we were sittin there,
we re makin this agreement, and Joe and I are
kinda—and Joe and I would talk, too, behind
Freddie’s back, you know. We would have a
meeting, and then Joe and I would meet later.
This Freddie was a little treacherous. (So I
understand how Pearl Harbor happened, but
that’s me, that’s me.)

But okay, we’re agreeing on this, and
so Mr. Kearney— well, quite properly, he
said, “Well, what’s the consideration of this
agreement?”

And so I said, “Well, what do you mean?
What do you mean?”

He said, “Well, it should be something.
What if someone violates it? Where are we?
And so shouldn’t there be somethin’?”

William F. Harrah

“Oh yeah.”

So the Russian, who’s got plenty of
money—and he was a little cocky—pretty
cocky still—he said, “Well, I think we should
each put up two thousand dollars in cash, and
you can hold it, Mr. Kearney, and the first one
that violates it loses his two thousand dollars,
and we’ll lay out the schedule,” da da da.

And so I’m goin’, “Ooh, brother.”

So Joe and I are lookin’ kind of funny, and
we look at Freddie, and Freddie said, “That’s
fine with us. We’ll put up our two thousand
dollars!” [Laughing]

So Joe said, “What?” He said, “I don’t
have that in my pocket.” Joe was a real quick
thinker, you know. “Sorry, I don’t have that
in my pocket, but I’ll um—let’s meet at two o
clock this afternoon (which he was—this was
the morning). He was just stalling for time,
which was good.

So “Okay, everybody. We’ll come back at
two o’clock.” And so we left, Joe and Freddie
and I left. So, when we got rid of Freddie,
Joe and I got together. We’re walkin’ up the
street, and I says, “Joe,” I said, “I don’t have
two thousand dollars.”

And he said, “Neither do I!” [Laughs]

And I says, “Well, what do we do, what do
we do?” I said, “We got it made and—” you
know. And two thousand is like two hundred
thousand.

And he says, “Let’s go see Eddie Questa.”

And so—this is still in the morning—so
we went up, and that’s the first time I’d met—
I’d seen Eddie around town— first time I’d met
him. And he was down on the corner in the
bank there; so we went in, and Joe introduced
me. And of course Eddie was—had the big
mortgage on the Fortune Club, so he was
really watchin’ the thing all the way. And so
we’re here—well, we’ve got to send Joe in.

Eddie was delighted to know there’s an
agreement ’cause he’d been supplyin’ money

over there, and bankers don’t like to keep
puttin’ money out. So “Oh, that’s great.”

And Joe says, “Yeah, but here’s the catch.”
He said, “We gotta put up two thousand
dollars.” And he said, “I don’t have it,” and he
said, “Bill here, I don’t think has it either. He
asked me. And Joe Zemansky was a double-
crosser but was really nice there. He said,
“Now Bill, here,” you know—’’needs a little
help, too, Eddie.”

So Eddie thought about it quite properly,
and he thought, “Da da da da da da da.” And
he said, “Well,” he said, “I may have to talk to
somebody on this. But it’s eleven-forty-five—
why don’t you fellows come back after lunch
around one o’clock, one-thirty.”

“Okay.”

So we left and na na na na na. And then
we came back. So Eddie said, “It’s okay for
you, Joe—it’s all right. But,” he said, “Bill,”
he said, “Eve heard a lot about you—it’s all
good—but,” he said, “I don’t have anything on
you.” He said, “You got a little account here,
but nothin’—you know— nothing financial.”
But he said, “You’re from L.A.—you banked
down there, didn’t you?”

And I said, “Yeah.”

He said, “Did you make any loans?”

And I said, “Well, not really—a little bit.”

And he said, “Well, do you have someone
I can call?” He said, “I really have to get
somethin’ besides—.” He said, “As far as I’m
concerned, you’re okay.” But he said, “To
keep me—me, Eddie Questa—clean, I have
to really get somethin’ else.”

And so there was a friend of ours in
L.A.—what’s his name?—it’s an important
name, too—Phil Simon. He was a Jewish fella
who had married a Gentile lady, which was
kinda big news in those days. And his wife’s
name was Bayonne, I remember—pretty first
name. And she was a very close friend of my
mother’s. So through that, we met Phil Simon;

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

and of course, he was the only Jew in anybody
we knew—the only Jewish person. And of
course, we were a little suspicious. And there
are Jews and Jews; of course, there’s Irish and
Irish— there’s all kinds—but there are many
Jews that are kinda chiselers. But Phil was
just so far the other way. I think because he
was Jewish, he might have gone—but he was
just And to this day I can say Phil was just
the nicest man I ever met. And then he was a
super banker. He had a little bitty bank, and he
ran it up to three banks, and finally he died of
a heart attack. And he just didn’t miss a bet; he
was right on top of everything and would do
anything he could to help ya and just a super

g u y-

So I gave Eddie, Phil’s number. And so
Eddie called Phil. And boy, he couldn’t’ve
called a better person ’cause when I came
back, you know, from my one-thirty or one-
forty-five, I was kinda like that [frightened
face]. And he says, “Who is this guy Simon
you gave me?”

I said, “Well, he’s so-and-so.”

And he said, “Well, boy, either you’re all
right or he sure thinks you are,” he said. “He
couldn’t’ve said enough good things about
you. So,” he said, “You can have the two
thousand,” which was just unbelievable—
’cause I had no security. So he gave me a note,
which I still have; after I paid it off, I framed
it. And I used to keep it in my office. I guess
I ought to put it back. Well, it’s a beauty—it’s
a note for two thousand dollars [drawing
a note], and it’s a regular bank note—you
know—two thousand da da da. And then in
the corner—or this corner, or somethin’—in
pencil, is “Okay, E.Q.” Then I used to show—
see this used to be Eddie’s office here where
we are. [First National Bank building]. He was
a super guy with me.

Anyway, we put up the two thousand
dollars and went back to the schedule, and

then, of course, the other place, being in a
bum location, they only ran a week or so
and folded up. I don’t think we ever had to
do anything on the other. I think that maybe
she was through, and maybe he’d stolen some
money when the thing was goin’ on; but he
disappeared, and that was the end of it. But
it was sure scary there for awhile.

Oh, I’ll tell you a funny one about Freddie.
Freddie Aoyama did have some good points.
So when we were workin’ on this, well,
he and I got very friendly. We weren’t too
friendly before ’cause we were competitors,
or he looked down on us— our little two-
for-a-nickel place. But then he could see—
although he was a little haughty, but he wasn’t
a hundred percent—he was pretty good most
of the time—he could see we were really, you
know, tryin like heck to straighten things out,
and we had a lot of good ideas. So the further
we got into this thing, the more friendlier he
got because we were all workin’ hard.

So while it was goin on (I know this is
later), uh— see, this was ’38. Let me jump
up to ’42, and then I’ll go back. But this is on
Freddie.

So when Pearl Harbor in—what was that?
That was ’41.

December seventh, and this is—yeah, it
was ’41, ’71, ’76—yeah, it was thirty-five years
last year, yeah. But after Pearl Harbor, it was
a Japanese place, so they had to close. They
ran maybe a week or two, and it was no local
thing; it was just I think the owners and all
and maybe somethin’—. But anyway, they just
closed up because they were Japanese owners,
and about half their help was Japanese. So
they closed up. Freddie wasn’t interned or
anything; he was still around. And the reason
they closed was the United States was at war
with Japan. And although Freddie was an
American citizen—he was born in Berkeley,
I think—he was just my age—but he was

William F. Harrah

out of business. So with a holdover from the
Bingo war, I knew him real good, and so I
immediately went to work to get that place.
And I had a running start over everybody else
because Id known Freddie from the Bingo war
real good.

“It’s all right, Freddie. Come on!” So
I’d take him out to dinner—he and his
wife—which he liked very much. He liked
to associate with white people socially.
He thought that was neat. And he had a
wonderful wife. I still see her once in a while.
She’s one of the nicest Japanese ladies I ever
saw—real classy. So we’d go here and there,
and one night, I’ll never forget, one time we
were—I took ’em always the newest places,
and they never had been anywhere in town.
They just—he would go to work and go home;
and they would eat at home, you know. And
they had a little family and just—. So it was a
big thing to go to nightclubs.

So I remember we went out to Lawton’s,
which—you know, it’s had four hundred
names. I don’t know who owned it then, but
it was a pretty good nightclub at the time.
And we went out there for dinner. So we were
sittin’ at the—and they had some games—and
so Freddie and I were sittin at the bar. And
I don’t think I had a date; it was just Freddie
and I and his wife. And she’d gone to the
ladies’ room, so it was just Freddie and I.
And it wasn’t very crowded. And there was
some drunk there; I don’t know if he was at
the bar, at the “21” table, or somethin’. He
came over; he looked at Freddie (he looked
at him like that [mean expression]), and he
didn’t grab him, but he might’ve almost got
his coat, you know. He says, “Hey, you! Who
are you—Chinaman or a Jap?”

And Freddie, who was very arrogant
(and I thought, “Oh my God, we’re gonna
have a real ‘hey, Rube’ here, and I’m gonna
be in the middle of it.” I couldn’t fight my

way out of a paper bag—you know how your
mind goes) —and Freddie just like that said,
“Chinaman.”

And the fellow said, “Oh, okay, buddy!”
and away he went.

So then I—’’Freddie,” I said—and he was
always so arrogant, you know— [with put-on
deep voice] “I’m a bla bla bla bla...” And I said,
“This guy asked you this way, and you said,
‘Chinaman.’” I said, “Why did you do that?”

He said, “Do you think I’m crazy?”
[Laughs] And my respect for him grew greatly
right then. I thought, “Well, there’s a guy that
uses his head.”

But then ’cause they’re closed, we worked
on it. And we made a deal with him. We
couldn’t buy the place, but we leased it ’cause
they were sure—and they were right—that
when things cooled down or the war got over,
maybe even before, they can get back in. So
I got a lease on it, and I think it was a year-
to-year thing. But it was quite satisfactory,
because we got in there, and we kept our Heart
Tango. So then the Heart Tango remained
two-for-a-nickel; and the Reno Club, which
I think we left the name Reno Club— called
it Harrah’s Reno Club—and made it two-for-
a-dime. They’d always had a few shills—the
Japs. And we got rid of the shills—same old
story—and did real good. That became the
best Bingo parlor in Reno.

Might ask you just a little hit going hack into
this early period of the thirties. This was just at
the end of the time when Graham and McKay
and Wingfield had their hold. When you first
came here, John Cooper was the mayor; and
Lou Gammell was the chief of police. You
had said, when we were talking about doing
the interview, that the police had treated you
so nice, and the local politicians had been so
pleasant. The councilman for this area was
Rags Justi.

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

He worked at the Bank Club. Yeah, sure.

Well, I’m glad you brought that up because
Bill McKnight, who was everybody’s lawyer,
as I explained—and I got the casino, and I got
the lease on the one on Center. I wasn’t too
sure about the license. I think Bob Douglass
took me over and got the license—that was it.

And then when I got the Heart Tango,
I was a little nervous there again. I just—it
wasn’t—didn’t seem—you know—you should
have your license in your hand. And I already
had a license, as it was a new place. And I
remember I think Bill McKnight took me over.
And the chief of police had to okay it,, which
was perfunctory; they okayed everything. But
that’s when I met Lou Gammell. And he was
very nice.

We used to hang around the Bank Club,
right from the start, because it was the place
in Reno. The Palace Club was pretty good,
but the Bank Club was a little better—I mean
it was a prettier place and everything. But
we went both places—we’d go to the Palace;
we’d go to the Bank—and I’m talkin’ about
our guys; we hung out together. And we’d get
all—close our place, we’d close at one o’clock.
Of course, they’re still open. And we would go
to the Bank Club or the Palace, usually, and
have a drink and mark a Keno ticket.

And I was very interested in them, but
I didn’t have ideas of getting into gambling
right away, but I thought maybe some day.
So I just loved to watch how they did things,
you know.

And the Bank Club was on the square,
which was—most places weren’t. The Palace
Club was, too, but I think those are the only
two places in town that I can say were really
on the square.

I thought that was a very interesting distinction.
Did you not consider Bingos as gambling at
that time?

No, it was gambling, yeah. I just—
’’gambling place”—I used that instead of
“casino” or “gambling house”—that’s kinda
awkward.

There was Graham and McKay and Jack
Sullivan. And Jack was the manager, and
he was just the manager. And he was really
interested in Faro Bank for some reason. So
he used to—well, he would hang out over
there—sit by the Faro Bank. But he was the
manager and then almost a figurehead ’cause
it was Graham and McKay—they were—.
And McKay wasn’t around too much, but Bill
Graham was around a lot.

Then when they had to go away to
prison—that was for, you know, six or eight
years; it was a pretty good stretch— then
Sullivan became the boss, and they left him
in full charge. And he was really the boss.
You can get Jack Sullivan’s okay, why—. And
he was the fixer, you know; he was the one
that—. But the Bank Club was on the square,
and all the other places were cheaters—a
lot of little places; it was their way of doin’
business. The Bank Club, although they were
on the square, they didn’t mind the other
people cheating because they would get some
money by cheating, o’ course, and they’d wind
up at the Bank Club, so the Bank Club would
eventually get it all. So they were for the little
places.

And I remember one time my first dollar
slot machine that we had when we got the
Blackout Bar, which was later—I’ll tell you
about that later—but was a dollar machine
in there. It was the first dollar machine I’d
ever owned, and it was war time—they quit
makin’ them—so they were very hard to get,
and they were very expensive. I mean like a
slot machine was sixty dollars or something,
and this dollar machine, I think it cost six or
seven hundred. And it was fun having a dollar
machine, plus it made a little money.

William F. Harrah

But I was so proud of it. Anyway, I went
home or something—I didn’t always stay
till the bar closed—and then, why, we were
robbed. We lost some liquor, and we lost our
dollar slot machine, which was a tremendous
tragedy in that the liquor was replaceable,
although it was very hard to get; but the dollar
slot machine was irreplaceable. And it was an
inside job. You could know that because they
got it just at the right time, and they had to
have a car at the back door out in the alley
and everything. I told the police everything
I knew, I called a cop right away, which you
weren’t supposed to do. But I did—that’s the
way I was brought up.

So they caught the fellas. It was a bartender
of ours in connection with a crossroader from
across the street at a— can’t remember the
bartender’s name, but the crossroader was
Frank Sheely. He was a real rough guy. He was
one of those cheaters that’ll do anything, you
know, and I think including murder maybe,
although I couldn’t prove it, but—. And he
was a perfect crossroader ’cause he was kinda
husky looking— he wasn’t fat—he was well
built in pretty good shape, rugged features,
and he dressed very well, and he just looked
like a retired cowboy that had made it a little
bit. And he had a little drawl, and he was as
smooth a talker as there was. And he was a
real super cheater. Anyway, he’s the one that
got our slot machine, which we found out.
So they wanted me to—he came to see me or
somebody came and, “Please call it off. Frank
made a mistake. You got your machine back,
and he’ll give you some money—just forget it.”

I said, “No way.” I said, “He stole my
machine.” And he was a kind of a friend of
mine—he was a customer, so I was real nice
to the guy. And I said, “Well, I thought he was
a friend of mine—he turned around and stole
my slot machine.” I said, “No way—I’m gonna
press the charges as far as I can go.

Then they’re tellin me, “Well, gee, Bill.
Let’s—why don’t you let it go.”

I said, “No way.” I said, “I’m mad! I’m
gonna get him.”

So then Jack Sullivan called me up. And
Jack Sullivan never called anybody up.

And I answered the phone in the Bingo parlor.
And it was either before we opened or after
we closed. [Deep voice] “Hello. Bill Harrah?”

“Yeah.”

“This is Jack Sullivan.”

“Oooh. Yes, Mr. Sullivan.”

He said, “Could I see ya for a minute?”

And I said, “Oh, yes, sir. I’ll come right
over.”

And he said, “No, that won’t be necessary.”
He said, “I’ll come and see you.” And
he said, “You’re over there,” da da da. He
described where it was.

And I said, “Yah, yah. Right across from
so-and-so,” da da da. I told somebody—I said,
“Jack Sullivan is cornin’ over to see me. Wow!”

So he came over—I remember he had a
cane. And we had some steps, and he had a
little—he was kinda heavy. But I was really
impressed. It would be like President Carter
or somebody cornin’ to see you. It was—you
know—’’Jack Sullivan cornin’ to see me!
Wow!”

So he came in; I took him in the office
and sat down. I said, “Oh, yes, Mr. Sullivan,
what?”

And he laughed—he turned on all of
his personality. He didn’t have too much,
but he turned on all he had. He’s grinnin’
and laughin’, you know. He said, “Well, Bill,”
he said, “you’re doin’ pretty good here. We
wondered how you were gonna do when
you opened, but you’re doin’ fine. We’re glad
to have you here. You’re a good guy. You get
around. I know you come over to our place,
and you’re not the biggest gambler we have,
but you spend a dollar or two, and we like

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

you very much. You’re a good citizen....” On
and on and on, and that’s just fine. “We like
to have young guys like you, and that’s good.
Oh-” blah blah blah.

Finally he said, “Now about this Sheely
thing.” (This is about a week before the trial.)
He said, “Now Frank is a—” he said, “he’s an
impulsive guy, you know.” He said, “Frank’s
really a pretty good guy. But,” he said, “once in
a while he’ll get kinda drunk, and he’ll do the
damnedest things. And,” he said, “I just want
to hit him in the nose when he does that. But
Frank’s really a good guy.” And he said, “He
got your slot machine—there’s no question
about that— but he didn’t really—. It was just
kind of a prank like some kids play, and, you
know.” And he said, “Really why don’t we just
forget this, Bill.” He said, “It was really—.”

And I really stood up to him—I was
amazed at myself, said, “That is—I respect you
very much, Mr. Sullivan; that is not true!” I
said, “Sheely wasn’t drunk, and he wasn’t— big
thing.” I said, “He’s the biggest crook in town,
and you know it. And this slot machine was
just another caper that he’s pulled.” I said, “No
way!” I said, “He deliberately, soberly stole my
slot machine and a lot of booze. And,” I said,
“I’m gonna get him!” I said, “I would really
love to do anything I could for you. Ask me
anything else to do, and I’ll do it. But,” I said,
“I’m not gonna—.”

And I guess I was so impressive that he
said, “Well, okay, Bill.” He said, “I respect your
thinkin’. But,” he said, “I think, if you want to
get along in Reno,” he said, “I think you’re
makin’ a mistake.” He said, “Here we scratch
each other’s back,” and da da da da da, you
know. That was it.

And Frank did—they had a trial, and I
testified against him, and he went to prison.
And I guess some people thought he might
get even with me, and I should have worried
about it maybe, but I never did. But he was

kind of a blowhard. And then later, he got
killed in Vegas in a bar room brawl. And just
a few years later people said, “Oh, I wonder
how come he got killed.”

And I said, “Well, he probably stole
somethin’ [laughs] from somebody.”

That really took a lot of courage to stand up to
that crowd.

Well, it was just absolutely the right
thing—and I said, “Oh brother.” It was the
question, “Are you gonna be a good guy or
a bad guy?” It was—you know—really the
principles were involved—not that I’ve—but
I was brought up a certain way, and just—to
rue it was just no question what you did. You
know, somebody stole somethin’, you yelled
copper and you put ’em in jail. And you put
’em in as hard as you could. That was it.

The stealing of the dollar slot machine was
the only time anything like that happened.
That was the only one. Prior to that, I’d been
just kind of a nothin’ as far as the crossroaders
were concerned. But then after that episode,
why I was anti-crossroader, which was
supposed to intimidate me. But most of those
fellas are a lot of talk and not much action.
But there are some real tough ones—or there
were some real tough ones, but I just went
about my business. And I didn’t have any
security or anything; it wasn’t even thought of
in those days. And I just went where I wanted
to go and didn’t worry about it, and nobody
ever bothered me. But there were stories.
And Cliff Judd—the Galloper—I don’t know
if anyone heard of him. He was one of the
top crossroaders all over the West. And he
got involved in several things, and I was on
the other side. And the Galloper was gonna
do this and that, but he never did. In fact,
he showed up in Stanley a couple of times;
and he wasn’t necessarily after me. But some

William F. Harrah

fellas up there—that were also crossroaders
[chuckling] — had a place there, and he was
a friend of one of the sons. They were really
terrible—those guys.

But I’ll stay on Reno, I guess.

How about some of the other people who were
important around here.

Well, when we go into Graham and McKay,
then I’ll go into Justi. Justi was I think the bar
manager at the (oh, I’ll go into him first) at
the Bank Club, but he was really their city
councilman. And Justi was very independent
or pretended to be, and he would usually go
along with what the Bank Club crowd wanted,
but not a hundred percent. He maintained
a little—. And I thought sometimes he just
voted a different way just to show that he was
independent. But I also think it would be safe
to say that when he went against the Bank Club,
it was on a minor thing. I don’t think he ever
went against ’em on anything major. But he was
a good councilman. He was all right.

Bill Graham was a real gregarious fella, and
he and I got along real good—always. And he
was a good sport, you know—well, he really
spent too much money. If you remember, if you
knew him, you know, he’d go around and buy
drinks everywhere, which of course, I did that,
but not on the scale he did. But also he’d give
money to everybody, which I never— I thought
a long time ago that was kinda dumb. But he
would come out of the Bank Club or somethin’;
and all these bums, you know—’’Gimme a five,
Bill.” “Gimme ten” or “Loan me.” And he’d just
hand it out, just forever.

And then McKay was the quiet one—
Jim. They were both crooks, but they weren’t
crooks in their casino. And McKay— I liked
him very much. I got to know him, and he
had a wife that he married—a young gal. It
didn’t last very long, Cora Sue or something.

But I remember when he was goin’ with
her—and I was goin’ along for some reason.
And we would double-date a lot, and I don’t
know—maybe my girlfriend—her friends
or something; but I went out a lot with Jim
McKay.

Jack Sullivan I just saw around the bars.
He would buy everybody a drink all the time.
He never drank very much, but he would be
in other bars like the old—what was Johnny
Petrinovich’s—oh, the Grand—Grand bar. Bill
Graham was in there just all day long. And
the Bank Club would have a problem; they’d
come out of the Bank Club and go over to the
Grand bar and ask Bill about it.

But Bill finally ran out of money, I
remember. I remember he wanted to see me
one time, and it was, “Why does he want
to see me for?” And he was really spendin’
money in our place, just—. He was gamblin’
a little bit and runnin’ up bars, you know,
thousands of dollars a day. This went on for
months. We thought, “How can he do it?”
And then it went into years, you know. And
then he’d get behind—he had some money
cornin’. See, they’d sold out to some other—
but he had money cornin’. Then he’d go to our
management and say well, his money’d be in
at so-and-so. Then he came to me one time.
And it was financial. I know we handled it all
right, but it just surprised me that Bill Graham
of all people would need to even talk money.
But he was havin’ problems.

Then McKay, he handled his money good,
‘cept he married that real young girl, which
I shouldn’t talk about that. I think they had
a baby or adopted one or something. Her
name was Carol Lou or something [Cora Sue
Collins].

But he was always real classy. He’d keep
cornin’ to bar, and he would—like he’d be with
her, and they’d be coming in for dinner—they
didn’t hang around the bars. And instead of

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

“Hey, have a drink!”—he would, you know,
“Hello, Mr. Harrah.” And hed go sit at his table
or something; then someone would say—lean
over the bar and [softly], “Mr. McKay would
like you to have a drink”—you know—real
smooth. He was okay. I really liked ’em both.

But Justi, I didn’t know him—I knew him
well enough, you know; but I never got very
close to him. I described him pretty good, I
think. He was the leading councilman. I knew
all the mayors just—not friendly—just “Hello,
Mr. Mayor” sort of thing.

And the old Golden Hotel—George
Wingfield—I didn’t know him except to
say hello to. But I’m very familiar with the
Golden; I stayed there—the first place I stayed
in Reno. And then a couple of times when I
was kicked out of the house, or maybe I was
moved out of a place and hadn’t got my new
apartment yet. I would—so I stayed at the
Golden many times. I stayed at the Riverside
a lot, too. In fact, I lived at the Riverside for—
oh, when? That’s movin’ up a little. Yeah, that’s
the next—that’s the forties. We’re still in the
thirties.

And there was the Town House. Do
you remember the Town House? [George]
Frenchy Perry and Jack Blackman were the
owners. Jack’s the one that shot the guy in
the Bank Club later. Fact, he’s still down in
Texas—I hear from him—no, he died. He
died recently. But Mary Blackman—she was a
cigarette girl there. And she and Jack—I don’t
know if they were married then, but they got
married—and they were still together. And
they kinda kept in touch with me. Whenever
they’d come to town, they’d call me up. I
didn’t want to get too close to them because
he was—I never liked Jack too much. He was
a cheater from way back. Plus he had got in
this fight, and I think he was half right, but he
did kill the guy. And I liked Frenchy cept he’s
such a dirty talker, but he was a real funny guy.

And I used to hang around there quite a bit at
night ’cause they had orchestra. I remember
they had what’s his name?—who later became
the Sparks councilman or mayor? lie was in
the legislature or railroad—Chet Christensen.

He used to sing “Mother Machree” over
there, I remember. I would—yeah, he would
sing it at my request, and I’d always tip him.
It was the only place in town that had any
music, and it was pretty good—not that I was
a dancer, but I loved to listen.

But I’ll never forget—I was there one
time, and this Johnny O’Hara—. First time
I came it was Johnny and Kay O’Hara—only
they weren’t married yet—and I was with my
first wife. But they came back later after I was
established, and they came up one time—or
a lot—we were close friends. And so Kay and
Johnny come in, and Johnny’s like I said—fell
into these games. So “Where’ll we go and
what do we do?” and this and that, and they
wanted a nice dinner. And I said, “Okay. The
best steak in town is the Town House.” And
I said, “The owners are friends of mine, or
kinda.” I said, “I get along fine. But,” I said,
“the gambling is crooked as hell.” So I said,
“Just don’t play. Buy a lot of drinks, and I’ll
introduce you to everybody, and dance if you
want, and we’ll have the best steak you ever
had. Enjoy!”—you know.

Okay. We went over. So we had a few
drinks before. So we got in there, and
we’re at the bar, and everybody’s real nice
and buyin’ drinks. And so Johnny turned
around, and he saw the Crap table. So he
got his money out, and he started over to the
Crap table. He got over there before Kay saw
him. And she was kind of a wonderful gal,
but she’d get a few drinks and she’d get a little
loud—not, you know—but you could hear
her. So she turned, and she said, “Johnny!
Get away from that Crap table! Don’t you
remember Bill told us not to play in here!”

William F. Harrah

[Laughs] So every head in the Town House
looked at me!

And I remember Frenchy looked at me,
and I said [head down, waves], “Hi, Frenchy”
[Laughs]

So then it really worried me a little.
Frenchy could kinda take a joke, but, he took
his business seriously So then the first chance,
we went in to have dinner out, and I got ahold
of Frenchy, you know, and I said, “I couldn’t
be sorrier.” I said, “I did tell him. Naturally he’s
a friend of mine; he’s goin’ to school.” I said,
“I don’t mind bring-in a guy that’s got some
money—you know—let you make a couple of
bucks. But,” I said, “Johnny’s like this [up to
nose]. He’s goin’ to medical school. And then,”
I said, “I’m gonna have to pay for halt of his
trip. I couldn’t.” And I said, “The dumbbell—I
just said it. And I didn’t say it was crooked.
I just said maybe he might have better luck
somewhere else. But,” I said, “I’m awful sorry,
Frenchy.” Boy!

But Kay, until she died, I used to throw
that at her. I said, “Boy, you almost got me
killed one night!” [Laughing)

That was a fun place, that little Town
House. I liked that very much. And old Chet
Christensen—we still talk about it whenever
I see him. And he’ll mention this today—
’’Remember ‘Mother Machree’?” He had a
beautiful voice.

I wasn’t too close to any of the city
officials. It was just in the way of—when
it was necessary. If I had business with the
sheriff, I went to see the sheriff. If it was the
mayor, why—but I didn’t socialize with ’em or
anything. But I remember most of ’em. And
like Ray Root was the sheriff for years. And I
just knew him to say hello, but as I remember,
he was an excellent sheriff. And then when he
retired, I think Bud Young came along and
was sheriff for years, which—I’ll talk about
Bud later.

Memory Sketches of Some Early-Day
Employees

Yeah, Fred Brady was a Bingo man, and
I met him in Venice. He was working down
there when we first opened. He was working
for the Japs, as we called ’em. Frank Furuta
owned most of the Bingo or Tango—Japanese
Tango parlors down there. Fred worked there
and was very good.

He opened a place near us of his own, a
two-for-a-nickel Bingo, which maybe’s where
I got the idea for a two-for-a-nickel Bingo.
And he worked, he was a good competitor. He
worked real hard and made a success out of it.
But then it, like all the Bingos down there, it
went out when everything else went out. But
at that time I got acquainted with him.

Later he was in Reno; I didn’t bring him to
Reno. I forget where he worked here, but then
he started working for us. And he was a super
Bingo man, as good as any ever. But he had
a drinking problem, which some people can
do. He got along for years with his drinking
problem and still did a super job. But then
occasionally, there’d be trouble of some kind,
So we worked with him; we never fired him.
Then he went on the wagon, finally.

We’d opened in Vancouver, Washington;
Bingos were legalized there for a short time.
And I’d sent up a manager that worked for
me in Venice and had worked here, who had
had problems; and I was just a young guy
then and was learning [chuckles] about life,
I guess. I was gonna reform this fella, and he
was on drugs, I think, plus liquor. I liked his
wife very much, and I liked him. I sent him
to Vancouver, Washington to run the place.
I had two partners up there, and I wanted
to do a good job. I wanted to do a good job
just because I liked to do a good job, but also
because of my partners, I wanted to do an
extra good job. And he didn’t do it, which

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

is—no use going into; he just failed. And
after repeated tries and repeated trips up
there, then I sent Fred up, and Fred did very
well. Maybe six months, we ran with Fred in
charge; we did very well. And maybe once
or twice were a couple of problems, but not
worth talkin’ about.

Then after that, Fred came back to Reno
and worked with us some time, then he went
to Lake Tahoe and ran the Bingo up there till
he retired about, oh, five years ago. He’s still
around; and I see him occasionally.

I have a funny one to tell on Fred. He
was, as I said, quite a boozer. And he was a
Catholic—supposed to be a good one, but he
really wasn’t. And he had a brother that was
a priest, and his brother came to visit him.
Fred was the type of fella who always lived in
a hotel. So he lived in one of the hotels around
here, and his brother came.

So it was Sunday morning, and the
brother wanted to go to church, of course.
He assumed Fred was going, and Fred caught
on right away, but he didn’t know where the
Catholic church was! So [laughing]—so he
grabbed—he always rode in cabs—so he
grabbed a cab, and he and his brother got in.
Cab driver said, “Where?”

And Fred said, “The Catholic church.”

And the cab driver said, “Which one?”

And Fred was a quick thinker, and he said,
“The big one!” [Laughs] So he was saved—
according to his story—although r met his
brother, and he-wasn’t any dummy. I think
he caught on.

And Bob Ring—. Should’ve started with
him because he came along in Venice. The
funny thing about Bob, we opened the Circle
Game and got straightened out; and all my
school chums didn’t work out, and I started
hiring some Venice kids. And there was a
Charlie Capp worked there, who was quite
good; and of all the people we tried, he was

the best. So Charlie was kind of a Number
Two man besides me. And I think Charlie
and I ran it just about, for a few days there
or a few weeks or even months, with a little
occasional help. Then things picked up, and
so I asked Charlie if he knew anyone else that
could work that was good. And he said, yes,
he knew a fella in Santa Monica, Bob Ring,
that he knew very well was a good, honest kid,
da-da-da.

So I said, “Bring him around.” So he
brought Bob around. And “Hello.”

“Hello.” And so in those days it was no big
thing; you just went to work. So we put Bob
to work, and he worked a couple of days and
worked real hard, very quiet.

And so Charlie asked me after about the
second day—he said, “What do you think of
Bob Ring?”

And I said, “Well, he’s okay. Except,” I
said, “he never says anything. He’s a real quiet
and—nothin’.”

And Charlie said, “Well, he’s not that way
at all. He’s really very outgoing,” or whatever
(that isn’t how Charlie talked, but—). He said,
“Give him a chance. He’ll loosen up, and he’ll
be fine.”

So I forget how we got the message to
Bob—I think I talked to him, or Charlie
talked to him. “You’re doin’ okay, but loosen
up,” which Bob did. He became himself,
and—which he has a wonderful personality,
and the little old ladies, which were playin’ in
those days just like they do today, just loved
Bob Ring. He’d kid ’em and remembered
everything about ’em and remembered their
grandchildren’s name and what kind of
cigarettes they smoked, and he kidded ’em,
which surprised me—I learned a lot. I never
got that far ’cause I don’t have that kind of a
personality. But he would say things to the
little old ladies that were almost shocking
sometimes— not dirty, but just—you know—

William F. Harrah

’’And your hat’s on crooked,” or somethin’ you
know. But he said it in such a way that they
just loved it, so—. Fact, you could almost
tell—well, you can today in a Bingo parlor,
which that was very similar to. It was like
we had two stations; there were fifteen stools
exactly, on each station. And Bob Ring would
work one station, and say, Charlie Capp would
work the other, and I was runnin’ the game.
And if the place wasn’t full, Bob Ring would
have fourteen players, and maybe Charlie’d
have six or eight, cause they just loved Bob.

Then Bob was—his father died when he
was very young. He lived with his mother
and his brother Harry, an older brother. And
so we went from one game in Venice to two
games, to three games. And Bob came right
along, and within a short time he was in part
charge of all three games and worked very
well. It was all new to him, but to me, too. It
was just trial and error and common sense
that made it go pretty good.

I’ll never forget one time Bob’s brother
came to work— Harry. And Harry was older
than Bob, but Bob was the boss; and Harry—I
thought, “Gee, is that gonna work?” but it
did; Harry was pretty good. But I’ll never
forget—and they both lived at home. The
mother was a widow, and the money meant
quite a bit. And I remember one time we had
drinking problems with some of the fellas,
not that they were drunks, but drinking when
they were working. So we had a strict rule—if
you drank on the job, you didn’t get fired but
you got bawled out and maybe laid off for a
few days. So Bob Ring, the boss, caught his
brother, Harry Ring, drinking on the job. So
he bawled him out and laid him of f for a
week, I think, which was the right thing to
do without any question. But then when Bob
went home, and his mother—and Harry went
home first (he’d been laid off), and then Bob
went home to dinner or somethin’— and his

mother, I guess, lit into him as much as she
ever did (she was really a nice lady) about
layin’ off his own brother, they needed the
money and da da da. Bob did the right thing.
So the games in Venice, I think I mentioned,
were off and on, and off and on.

When we opened in Reno, it was really a
branch—a small branch—of our operation
in Venice. So Bob was the most valuable man
I had, but I didn’t want to spare him down
there, so I sent another fellow up to run Reno.
And he didn’t work out too well, and I was
here an awful lot. The fella wasn’t stealing or
anything, but he really wasn’t paying as much
attention to business as I liked. And when we
got where it looked like it would be successful,
and that things in Venice weren’t too bad,
then I asked Bob to move up here. That was
a big move for him, born and raised in Santa
Monica and his mother down there and all.
And he thought about it, but not too long,
and he came on up and [chuckles] —been here
ever since.

He took over when he got here and did
an admirable job right from Day One, as far
as managing the place. Bob and I worked
together, I’d say just about perfectly, all those
years. And we worked, you know, almost as
partners. We just conferred, and, “What do
we do next, what do we do next?”

And another example I’ll give on Bob,
right straight down the line, we had another
fellow we brought up from Venice named
Bill Goupil, who worked for us quite awhile,
and he’s retired now. He left us and worked
for Harvey’s for a few years. He now lives in
Carson. I see him occasionally. And we’re
good friends. Bill Goupil. He and Bob were
very close; in fact, they were roommates.
I think they had a room over the Palace
Club. And Bill Goupil got to playin’ around
and drinkin’, so Bob laid him of f. And I
remember it was kinda tough, then; I think

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

everybody got five dollars a day And it was
similar problem, only no mother involved.
But Goupil owed half the rent, and Goupil
liked to spend his money anyway; so Bob was
stuck with all the rent, I remember. But it was
the right thing to do, and he did it.

So then Bob met a girl here—Lucille—and
they were married—still married, apparently
very happily. And they had one son. Bob’s
been extremely loyal.

When we got bigger and bigger and got
more—what’s the word? When we got real big,
it was—. Bob has been my right-hand man
all along and did anything—I was president,
and he was president. But it got really beyond
him—his capabilities of the president’s job,
which he knew except that—, So then we had
another president— [Maurice] Sheppard—
who was a big turnaround, which I’ll go into
later—and then later Lloyd Dyer, and Bob
Ring just couldn’t—with his background and
all— couldn’t do what they did. And I couldn’t
either. We don’t have their backgrounds or
their capabilities. Bob has always been a super
guy, wonderful personality, and extremely
well liked by everybody, and still is. He’s
now—I’m chairman of the Board, and he’s
Vice chairman, and his duties are just about
what he wants to do.

He started the golf tournaments for us
years ago, I think twenty-some years ago.
He was quite a golfer; he still plays, I think.
And our golf tournaments became super
tournaments—very popular. We still have
them, not quite as big as we did. But Bob
got into that, which worked out pretty good
’cause as he retired from other things, he got
in the golfing bigger, plus other things. So he’s
as active as he wants to be, I believe. And he
works just about every day, but he does what
he wants to do, which is the way it ought to be.

There’s another one I should mention—is
Billy Jackson, as he was in the early days. He

worked in Venice. He was what—a chip game
dealer or operator, which was Roulette games
they played at the beach, which they had an
electrical wheel on the wall, but it was just
like Roulette and very popular when it could
operate. And Bill either was a chip game in
our building, and it was—a lessee had it—and
that’s where I first met Bill; he worked in there.
And he has a wonderful personality. And he’s
crippled, but he doesn’t let it bother him; he
has kind of a cleft foot, but he moves fine.

So Billy, I knew him down there, and then
the chip games closed. And either he came to
work for us down there, or—I’m not sure—in
the Bingo. Then when we opened on Center
Street, Billy was the boss. (That’s before we
opened over here where I brought someone
else.) So I think Billy had been working up
here and was out of work or something. So
he was the boss. And the place was a failure,
which I went into that, didn’t I?

But Billy was not the easiest person to
work with. He had his ideas, which I think in
that first case he was probably right ’cause I
wanted to do it Venice way, and he—”No, no,
you should do it Reno way.” So we got along,
but it just wasn’t perfect.

So then we closed. So then when we
reopened, Billy was still around, but I wasn’t
too anxious to get him. You know, I didn’t
hate him or anything, but he just—. So that’s
why I brought another man up by name Tom
Gidney to run the place. And Tom didn’t work
out.

But then later—not too much later—Billy
came back to work, and he worked okay. But
Billy was a little strong, and you had to learn
him, and he liked to kinda run it if you let him.
But once you got the message to him that that
was his job and to stay in his slot, he worked
out fine. So he worked for us for years, and
he—we had a retirement of sixty-five, but we
intelligently allow exceptions in there. And

William F. Harrah

Billy at sixty-five, he was like most men of fifty
So he kept on working and I think till he was
seventy-five or seventy-seven or something.

And then we started retiring—got a lot
more serious. We had quite a few over sixty-
five, and it was time to really start getting
serious. And Billy was still doing a good job,
but it just—politically, or whatever you want
to say, to get rid of a lot of people—it was
really time to get rid of Billy also, which he
really didn’t want to leave, but he was very
graceful about it. I think I asked Bob Ring
recently about Billy for some reason. And he
said, “Oh yeah, he’s working at the Onslow,”
[chuckles] “and doin’ a fine job.” He’s a pit
boss at the Onslow, and he’s gotta be eighty
years old. And I betcha, in case you’d want to
walk by there and take a look at him, I bet he
doesn’t look over sixty. And, well, when I met
him, his father looked just like him, except for
the foot, just like him. And I think his father’s
probably still—and his grandfather and his
great grandfather were alive. And the last I
heard, I think his great grandfather died at a
hundred or somethin’, and his grand—just one
of those families that go on and on and on;
they all look alike. Oh, I guess that’s enough
of that.

One of the things that we didn’t talk about
in this early period was your use of the Wine
House as kind of a bank.

[Chuckles] Well, we were next to the
Wine House, and we discovered instantly
where it was, and the food was so great. And
the Frankoviches were so great; it was just
a wonderful place—busy and friendly and
everything. And they had a safe there with
compartments in it, and you could rent them.
And I don’t remember (that was Bob Ring’s
department) whether we rented one or just
left our bankroll with the bartender, which

wouldn’t surprise me. But that was our office.
See, we—our Bingo was no—wasn’t even a
building there. That was just a ceiling between
two walls; we had a twenty-five-foot room on a
twenty-five-foot lot, which was really fun. But
the Wine House next door—and you wanted
a sandwich, you wanted a beer, you wanted
whatever—there it was. It was wonderful. Boy,
we loved the Wine House—and right next
door. That was really a landmark, wasn’t it?

Did I mention earlier about the bar down
here—the Alpine Club?—on Center Street.
That was next to our first place. And I can’t
remember the man that ran it—a real nice
fella. That was a bar and restaurant. And we
hung around there ’cause it was next door,
and I think we left our bankroll there. We
were good customers. I think it was Eddie
[Maier]—Bob Ring could tell you his name,
I’m sure—owned it. I can just see him—big,
kinda short, and kinda chubby, and a big grin
on his face—wonderful food. But Eddie was
the bar man.

You know, it was very tough at first. And
who was it? No, Bob Ring wasn’t over there; it
was one of the other managers. We’d get down
where our bankroll was down to nothin’, and
they would borrow from Eddie, a hundred or
two hundred to keep goin which—in fact, I
didn’t know at the time they borrowed it. Even
when I found out about it, I was pleased, you
know, ’cause I wouldn’t’ve even thought about
askin’ him, but we were good customers. And
lookin’ at it from his point, we were the, you
know—the place’d close, and here comes the
whole gang drinkin’ and—so we were good
customers. But a hundred, you know, was a
lot of money. And of course, we always paid
him back.

That’s really a remarkable arrangement for
financing in those early days, you know, to leave
your bankroll with the bartender.

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

Yeah. Well, you trusted him, of course. I
think that hotel’s still there; I don’t know if you
can see it yet. Yeah, I can see it, but I can’t see
the name. My door’s right above the place; we
stayed there. And I think it’s the same hotel
and the same name today.

Wartime Interlude and
the Blackout Bar

See, business—after the Bingo war was
over, then as we had the only two-for-a-nickel
in town, why, we did very well. And then we
didn’t make millions, but we made money
every month for several years there and
got all caught up on our bills and debts and
everything, and started looking around for
expansion. And one that came along, first one,
was the old Block N, I believe it was, which
was next to the bank on Virginia. And then
they moved up north, didn’t they?

Yeah. And a couple of fellas—[Richard]
“Tricky Dick” Kolbus and Joe—what was his
last name? Oh, Joe Luke (name was Lukanish,
but he abbreviated it to Luke). They took it
over. “Tricky Dick” was a football star, and
Joe was kind of a promoter type. And they
had it in there, and they opened a casino with
everything. But they were overextended and
havin’ a tough time, which I realized ’cause I
used to hang around there. So I leased half of
their store that they weren’t usin’ much. And
they needed the money. So I leased halt of it,
and to protect myself, I got an option with
the landlord, who were the—oh, what’s their
name?—real good friends—. We got along
fine—Joe and Victor [Saturno] and I. And I
went to them and just told ’em the truth, that
I was gonna lease this place; and I wasn’t too
sure how the—. They weren’t too happy with
Joe Lukanish, anyway, for some reason. And
I said I wanted to put a Bingo in there, and I
wanted to be protected in case the operators

in there defaulted that I could take over the
lease. And they said, “Fine,” and they just
gave me a letter or something to that effect.
And then Joe and “Tricky Dick” did default.
And so I took it over and got the lease. Then
I let it sit there for quite a while, ’cause it was
wartime or soon became wartime—I just paid
the rent on it. [I] left it vacant there or put
little things in from time to time but short
term. And then I worked out a good lease
with the Saturnos. And they were so easy to
work with; you just said it the way it was, and
they went right along. Anything you wanted
to do—remodel—fine, you know. They were
wonderful guys.

Then after the war or well, the war was
on—we made plans to put a casino in there.
And then you couldn’t do much; we could do
a little but not very much. But we could do a
lot of planning. And then as soon as the war
was over, then we immediately started to put
in the casino.

So we started right away, and we opened the
following June—’46,1 believe—with a casino.

Then staying on the Saturnos with this
casino (which I’ll talk about a little later),
I went to ’em—they had plenty of money.
Their father’d owned a lot of property, and
they always had plenty of money. But I went
to them and just asked them about selling
the building, and I thought they’d laugh at
me or something. And they said, no, they’d
think about it. And we talked numbers, and
we didn’t take too long to arrive at a number,
and they said, yeah, they’d sell it, which really
surprised me. And it was on my terms—which
I had some money then. But they were very—
whatever I wanted to do was fine. And then
they took quite a bit of the money—not all of
it but some of it—and you probably read in
the paper about it.

They went back to the little country where
they came from, and they gave two thousand

William F. Harrah

dollars or something to every member of the
little community. That was within the last
ten years. And Joe died. Victor’s still alive,
and I run into him on the street, send him a
Christmas card, and he—I wish I had it—well,
I have it somewhere. For his Christmas card
this year, he wrote on it: “Merry Christmas,
Bill and your wife” (he’s met her) . And he
said, “You have done a great deal” or “an awful
lot” or however he said it “to improve Reno.
Keep up the good work” da da da—real, real
friendly.

Anyway, we opened the casino, and we
had all kinds of problems ’cause that wasn’t
our business. We’d had a little small casino
in the Blackout, which—did I mention that?
Well, I better intersperse that.

[Chuckles] We had the Bingo parlor—the
first one— and then the successful one. Then
when the war came along and the Reno Club
was owned by a Japanese, then they had to
close immediately because of the war feeling,
although the operator was American born—
Freddie Aoyama.

We made a lease with him. They owned
the property, and we leased it on ’em—yearly
basis, I believe—and operated it as a Bingo
parlor. And we were on both sides of Harolds
Club at that time. And we had—I know on the
north one, I remember I asked Pappy Smith
one time—I said, “What would you think of
cuttin a door between these two places?”

And so how he operated—I just caught
him in the Harolds Club, and he said, “Let’s
take a look.” And so he went, and we walked
through Harolds Club, and he said, “Where
would it go?”

And I said, “Well, come around.” So
we went in the Bingo, and I showed him
where it would be good—for me— where it
would fit, where it wouldn’t interfere with
anything— and about a six-foot opening or
eight feet.

Then he said, “Fine.” And then when
we left, he kinda stepped it off to the front
door; and then he went around to Harolds
and stepped it out—into Harolds, where he
hit about where the door would be, and it
didn’t interfere with him. And he said, “I
think that’s a good idea. Let’s do it.” And that
was all we did; we just went, with permission
from our landlords, of course, and cut the
door. Which was really good for both of us,
because the people could run back, and we’re
noncompetitive—they had no Bingo and a lot
of slots, and we had Bingo and very few slots;
and they had a bar, and we didn’t have a bar.
And so people really circulated. It was very
good for both of us.

And then when we got the Reno Club,
which was the Japanese’s place, I went to
Smith again. And I said, “Hey, I’m on the other
side. Let’s cut another door.”

And he said, “Fine.” And we did the same
thing and cut another door.

Then we started serving drinks to our—.
See, we didn’t have the two-for-a-dime place,
which was high class—high a class of Bingo
as you could have; and we had a good one,
but our competition was the Club Fortune,
who had a bar. And they served drinks to
their customers, and we couldn’t do it, and
it was a business disadvantage. So how could
we serve— well, we didn’t want to mess
with a liquor license and all that to start.
So we talked to Harolds, and we could—we
did it in the other place—we could go into
Harolds; we could have a waitress go in and
go to the bar and buy a drink and take it in
to give it to our customers, which worked,
but not very well because like on a busy day,
and she’s fighting the crowd, and the bar
was, you know, quite a ways. So it wasn’t
good.

And then I’d had a bar in Venice. I kinda
liked the bar business a little bit, I think

Gambling in Reno, 1937-1946

probably because I liked to hang around it
and drink—I don’t know.

But Murray Jacobs had a clothing store
there, and he and I were good friends. So I
talked to him. I think liquor licenses were
impossible at that time; I think they’d frozen
the licenses. Or no, they hadn’t, but I really
didn’t have room in the Reno Club (that was
the name of it) for a bar, and Murray had this
building next door to his clothing store, so
we, meeting and talking, we became pretty
good friends. And he was tired of the clothing
business; he’d inherited it from his father
and been in it forever, and he was ready to
go to somethin’ else. So we figured out a deal
where the front part of the store would be
liquor store, which Murray had, and in the
rear would be a bar. And there’d be a partition
so that there was really no connection. But
we could operate on one license, which was
important—you saved a little money.

So we went ahead with that deal. And I put
the bar in the back, which was the “Blackout,”
we named it; it was because of the war, and
it was a real dark bar. Then there was an
entrance from the alley (let’s see, that’s Lincoln
Alley, isn’t it?) and also from the Bingo. And
we served drinks in the Bingo, which was
the reason or purpose. But then it got to be
rather popular while we brought in a pianist
that I had working in Venice. And his name
was JackMcCarg; he was known as “Jackson.”
He was very good. And there wasn’t much
entertainment in Reno at the time. Jackson
didn’t go to work till about midnight or eleven
o’clock, so, it kinda became the place to go in
Reno for quite a while there.

And I met—surprising—shows you
how things work out—I met more of Reno’s
leading citizens in the Blackout than I had in
all the time I’d been in Reno ’cause I just didn’t,
you know—I didn’t socialize; and the places I
hung out, they didn’t hang out. I didn’t belong

to the Kiwanis, or anything. But I met—gee,
I just met everybody in the Blackout.

So that worked pretty good—gave me a
taste of the bar business. And then we put in
a “21 ” game just to kinda feel our way and the
Crap table. And I watched it very closely. We
had a few slot machines in there, and I did tell
about gettin robbed.

But I got a taste of the casino business in
the Blackout. So then this other came along
in the other location; and then we had some
money, and I felt there was room for another
casino in Reno. So then we opened Harrah’s
in June of’46— June twentieth, I think it was.
Bob Ring remembers all those dates exactly.

From Harrah’s Club to
Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

It takes a lot of money to run a casino
cause you have to have quite a large bankroll,
and that place cost so much to put in. Then I
borrowed from everybody that I could. And
then I opened with a rather short bankroll.
And then we had some dishonest help. Wayne
Martin was the manager.

Well, during the war, I got in with Virgil
Smith and Bill [Williams]. Virgil Smith and
Bill and Wayne Martin. Well, see, Virgil Smith
had Colbrandt’s you remember. [Bill] was a neat
guy. He’s still livin’ here; he retired way back.

But anyway, I used to hang around
Colbrandt’s; I was a friend of theirs. And it was
a nice place to go, and I had no connection
with them, and I liked Virgil Smith a lot. And
we kinda palled around together. And then
Virgil got drafted and had to go away, and
then Bill ran the place. And Wayne Martin,
who also worked there, he ran the “21” game.
And then he tried to stay out (which is a long
story); and then he couldn’t pass anything, he
was so sick [chuckles].

But anyway, the three of us were left; I
was 4-F, so I didn’t have to go. But we got a

bar—John’s Bar—we rented that, then ran a
few games in there. And that was a four-way
partnership; we got Virgil Smith in on it
because we felt he should have it even though
he was away, and he was one of us.

John’s Bar was semi-successful; it made
money, but you couldn’t help makin money.
But I learned something real fast. I’d never had
any partners up till that except my father was
associated—we weren’t really partners—but
he got difficult at times. Then when I got on
my own, I could just make decisions and just
run along. So with this partnership—. John’s
Bar was, oh, twenty feet wide. And I’ve always
thought in terms of expansion, and there was
a store next door, and they weren’t doin’ very
good; I forget what business it was. It was
another twenty feet (or maybe twenty-five
and twenty-five) and it became available. And
so if I’d been on my own, I’d’ve just grabbed
it and torn the wall out and doubled the size
of my place. But Wayne would go along with
me pretty well and this Bill [Williams], he
was real conservative. He was a gambler, but
he really—a dime was a dime to him. And he

William F. Harrah

didn’t know, da da da, and “Should we lease
it?” And the rent was two hundred or four
hundred, and “Well, maybe we can get it for
three-seventy-five,” and all. So it took—we
could’ve gotten the lease in a day—it took
two months. And of course, the war’s goin’
on; the town’s full of people. And we finally
got it. So then I wanted to tear the wall
out. And you couldn’t do anything in those
days—everything was frozen—but you could
do things. And the way you did ’em, you just
went ahead; you hired a contractor you knew
and made your plans, got all your plumbing,
your light fixtures, but the big thing was the
wall. And they could stop you; some kind of
a board could issue—and they had to come
from Salt Lake or somethin’. So the trick was
just to get it done before they knew about it.
So that’s what I wanted to do. And I’d done
other jobs like that, and everybody in town
had done that. You just did it, and the next
day it was done; and they—”Hey, what’s going

o »

on?

“Well, it’s done, and so forget it.”

So Bill—no, no, he didn’t want to do it that
way And he wanted to go to the city I said,
“It’s not gonna work, Bill.”

But we got a contract, and we got—and
you couldn’t get bids, even if you wanted to
get bids. And I said, “This is wartime. You
just—you do it.” So we got a contractor, and
then the contractor had to go to the city hall
to get a building permit. And I said, “You get
a building permit, you’re going to tip your
mitt.”

And he said, “Oh no. I don’t want to get
in trouble.”

So we got a building permit, and
automatically we got a stay from the
government that—”Do not tear that wall
out. Do not do anything.” And once you got
one of those, you were dead, ’cause if you did,
then you were in violation of a whole bunch of

serious stuff. So we sat there for the duration
of the war with this vacant room next door,
when we could’ve had it full of slot machines
and “21” tables and all sorts of stuff.

Anyway, I learned real fast. I said, “Boy, I
sure don’t want any partners unless I have to.”
And you know, there’s a little good in nearly
everything, and that was the good that I got
out of that because if it’d been a real happy
partnership, I might’ve cut them in on the
casino when I opened it because I needed
money. But because of that experience, I had
no partner. And I borrowed money from
people and everything, but I just paid ’em,
and I paid ’em real good and you know— big
interest, and maybe extra. But no partners.

But anyway, Wayne and I became friends,
and he helped me. As he wasn’t in the army,
he helped me plan the casino. And he became
the Number One guy in the casino because
he understood gambling. And we planned
it, and it was a real beautiful place. It was far
superior to anything that had been done up
till then. But operating all the games, instead
of one or two games, we had, you know, two
or three Craps and six or seven “21s” and a
Roulette and a horse book and things. And
we couldn’t watch it all. I didn’t know how to
watch, anyway, ’cause it wasn’t my field. And
Wayne could work twelve hours a day. He
couldn’t be everywhere, so we did get cheated.
It was from the inside and the outside. We
had many crossroaders coming in, and we
could handle those pretty good, although we
got cheated a few times. But then also, we
had some crooked dealers that were goin, so
it was really very tough. And at times there, I
wondered if we were going to make it, actually.

Eddie Sahati came in—we had a Faro
Bank—and won forty thousand dollars one
time. And I don’t think our bankroll was a
hundred; and when somebody took forty, why
it was pretty scary.

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

Then we finally got it straightened out.
And just by firing him [points] and firing
him and—like people say you know—like
I’ll show people through the casino at Tahoe
or something on the Fourth of July when it’s
just huge and thousands of people, and “Well,
how can you handle all this? How can you
keep from getting robbed blind?”

And the answer is, no way you could do it.
You just couldn’t open it up and hire a bunch
of people and not get robbed blind. But over
the years you have a Wayne Martin, and you
have a Bob Ring, and you have a Lloyd Dyer
and all, so pretty soon everybody’s honest
but two or three people. Well, then it’s pretty
simple. But to start out with all new people,
then it’s pretty difficult.

But then did I tell you about Dr. Cantlon
and going to Stanley and everything?

Well, that’s a cute story. We finally opened
in June, and it was really touch and go through
July. And then it got straightened out, and
Wayne Martin was there, and my father was
here—he was a good watcher—and so we
were making money. There was no question
that the place was going to be a success. But
in the meantime, I drank a lot anyway. And
then because of the stress of opening, I drank
more than normal. Then no rest. And I got
where I actually had the shakes; I was like that
[trembles hand]. And I was—how old was
I—’46,1 was thirty-five. So I knew there was
something wrong, and you know, you don’t
like to admit it. But I went—and Dr. Vernon
Cantlon was my doctor, because he’s the one
that set my neck after the accident, which—I
went into that, didn’t I?

No.

Oh [laughs]. Okay, I’ll go back to it. But
he had become my doctor. So I went to him
(and we were “Bill” and “Vernon”) , and he

said, “What do you want?”—you know, ’cause
I was young—I wasn’t sick or anything.

And I said, “Look at me!” [trembles hand].
And I said, “What can you do?” You know, it
was embarrassing—around people my hands
were shaking.

And he said, “Oh, I can fix that.”

I said, “Give me a pill. Fix that.”

And he said, “No, I can fix it, but I won’t
give you a pill.”

And I said, “Well, that’s good.”

And he said, “Will you do what I say?”

And I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Now, wait a minute.” He said, “I
want to get it straight.” He said, “I can fix that,
but you have to do as I say.”

And I said, “I’ll do it, I’ll do it!”

And he said, “Okay. That’s a promise?”

“Yeah, that’s a promise.”

He said, “Go fishin?’

And I—’’That’s the most ridiculous thing
I ever heard! I’m a busy—” da da da, just a da
da da da, da da da da da— “fishin’—that’s the
dumbest thing—.”

He said, “You said you’d do it, didn’t you?”

And I said, “Yeah, I did.” You know, I
respected him, so I thought, “Well, I got to go
fishin?’ And things were in pretty good shape.
So I bought a trailer. Well, I always loved cars,
and I had this nice Packard 12 convertible.
I found a real neat two-wheel trailer that I
bought. It was used, but it was a super trailer.
And I hooked onto the back of the Packard
and took my girlfriend, and we just took off. I
didn’t know where I was going. And [I] drove
east, and then when I got to Elko, I went north
to Idaho. And I got to Twin Falls, and there
was a fellow there, neon sign man, Mel—.
We bought neon signs from him. He started
in Twin Falls, and he was quite a hustler,
except he was a boozer. And he expanded; he
was very successful. And he sold neon signs
pretty cheap. There was one other company

William F. Harrah

that were real expensive, and he sold ’em for
a fourth of the other people, and, as we were
on a shoestring, why, we started dealing with
him. So he built all the signs for us, and they
weren’t the best, but they were sure, you know,
affordable. So we became real good friends.
He would work with you, and, “We gotta have
it day after tomorrow,” and he would do it
somehow. So I liked him very much. He was
a good friend. And his headquarters were in
Twin Falls.

So when I got to Twin Falls, I went by to
see him. And he said, “Oh, hi, Bill, old buddy!”
and “Let’s have a drink,” and it was noon or
something. And so we had a drink, and he
said, “Well, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

And I said, “Well, you’re not gonna believe
it, but—da da da, my doctor, and I told him
I’d go ft shin’.” So I said, “I heard that there was
a fish or two in Idaho.” I said, “Here I am, but
where do you catch a fish?”

And he says, “Damn if I know.” But he
said, “I. got guy that works on the metal cases
for those signs—sheet metal man—that goes
fishin all the time. And he comes back with
em like that [two-foot gesture].”

And so he called the guy in—shop out in
the back where they’re poundin’, and this fella
came in with his overalls. And “Oh, Mel—”
(that fellow’s name was Mel Cosgriff—it’s
Cosgriff Neon).

So anyway, the fellow came in, and Mel
said, “Where do you catch all those big fish?”

And the fella said, “Stanley.”

So I said, “Well, where the hell is Stanley?”
So we got out a map, and then I saw where
Stanley was.

So I took of f and drove—I don’t know
if I went to Stanley that day or not. And I
might’ve; I drove real fast. Even with the
trailer, I’d go eighty miles an hour. I think
we may have—or the next day—it doesn’t
matter. But I remember it was so funny. I got

to Ketchum (why, I think we stayed maybe in
Ketchum), which was a neat town. They had
gambling there, then—and bars and all. And
then Stanley is sixty miles north. It was dirt
road in those days.

So anyway, we pulled into Stanley about
oh, six o’clock at night (it was dusk) in this
Packard; and it was a pretty classy car—this
great big Packard and this fancy trailer, and
my girlfriend was a flashy blonde. And I had
on a—I’ll never forget that—a gabardine suit
that I liked very much, and it was what today
would be a leisure suit. And it was tailored
beautifully; I’d had it made in Hollywood and
fit me beautifully. And I had little Weejun
shoes; I looked like Hollywood Boulevard.
And here I am up in the middle of Idaho in a
real rough town.

And I got in town; and I walked in this
bar, which was Archie Danner’s bar and was—
became a friend over the years. It was the first
bar I saw, so I went in there. And so here’s
these old cowboys standin around lookin’;
and here I come in with my fancy little shoes
and my gabardine, and they all— “Ooh, look
at this!”

But I had the blonde, and she looked
pretty good. But all my life I for some reason
just knew how to handle myself in a bar—and
not show off or anything. I would have a drink,
and I would buy everyone else a drink—and
not rude or anything. I would politely say,
“Would you—” you know—’’Would you like
to have a drink?” And not [gruffly] “Give him
a drink!”—I would say “Would you?”

Well, then, we—my girlfriend and I—had
a drink and the bartender, Archie Danner.
And I said, “Would you ask anyone else if
they’d have a drink?”

And he asked them, and, “Well, yeah! Hell,
yes!” And so then I bought another round,
another round and not because I was tryin’ to
make points or anything; it was just fun. That’s

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

the way I like to be in a bar; I like to buy a lot
of drinks, and I had plenty of money

So it wasn’t too long and I was a pretty
popular guy, in spite of my gabardine suit and
my Weejuns! And so then I got acquainted
and of course, people drifted in and out of the
bar. Archie Danner and I became pretty close
friends, and we were—he just got killed this
last year, a couple of months ago—friends of
his wife and all of his kids and everything— he
had about seven kids.

But, we became acquainted, and I told him
my story, you know. I came up here, I would
like to catch a fish, and I said, “What I want to
do—,” I said, “one reason I bought the trailer,”
I said, “I would like to go out and park it by a
stream.” I said, “Maybe it’s lazy of me, but it’s
just something I’ve dreamed of all my life. If
I’m gonna go fishin’, I’d like to—I want to be
all by myself—nobody within twenty miles.
And some fish in the stream, and get up in
the morning and have my breakfast and then
walk twelve feet and start fishing and maybe
catch a fish.” I said, “That’s my idea of havin’
fun.”

So Archie thought awhile, and he said,
“Well, there’s Elk Creek up there. It’s pretty
good.” He said, “That’s not too far, and fishin’
isn’t too bad,” and so-and-so. And he drew
me a little map how to get there and—not
too good a map. And I’d had a bit to drink
by then, but like still, in those days, I could
handle quite a bit.

So we started out for Elk Creek, and
it’s about twenty miles, I think, or fifteen.
And I’d have trouble finding it today, but
that night I think I only made one wrong
turn, which I discovered immediately. So we
drove right to it and found a real neat place
for the trailer and parked there, and it was
exactly what I wanted. It was totally isolated
and just beautiful, and this stream running
through—there weren’t too many trout in

the stream, but that didn’t matter ’cause then
we went elsewhere. But we parked there, and
we liked it a lot. So we unhooked the trailer,
and I think we stayed there— oh yeah, well,
that was the funny thing. When I left on the
doctor’s orders, I said, “Well, I’ll do what you
told me to, but,” I said, “things are so busy and
so much goin’ on,” I said, “I can only stay a
week.”

So he said, “Well, that’s better than
nothin’.” So I had planned to be gone a week.
But I just enjoyed it so much up there. And I
would go to Stanley every day and drink, and
buy little groceries—we cooked in the trailer
and everything. And then we’d go have dinner
there.

But I called Reno—’’How’s business?”
And business was just fine. I called every
other day at least—and business was good.
They were makin’ money—everything’s fine.
So my week turned into six weeks I was gone,
before I went back. And I spent all of it in
Stanley. And we stayed out there by the river
for about three weeks, course, by then I was
well acquainted, and we were fishin’ all over
the area. And it was quite a drive. We’d go to
town every night and hang around the bars
till one or two, and then we’d drive back to the
trailer—which was fun and no trouble. But
then we got to thinkin’, “Well, why do all that
drivin’? We spent an awful lot of time right in
Stanley. That’s our headquarters.”

So then this Archie had some property
there; he had a little motel. And so he said,
“Why don’t you bring it in here?” So we
brought the trailer in and parked it in the
corner of his property there and just lived the
same way. That was where we lived; that was
our headquarters instead of Elk Creek, twenty
miles. So we stayed there six weeks.

And when I came back—although I drank
all the time I was there, I was still walkin’ a
lot. And I had a big pot on me, even at that

William F. Harrah

age. But all the hills I climbed and just—you
couldn’t help movin’ around no matter how
lazy you were. I think my weight had gone
from two hundred and somethin’ down to
190.1 think I lost ten or fifteen pounds. I lost
my pot, and I lost my shakes. When I came
back, everybody was just amazed ’cause I was
slender and tan and no shakes and—. And of
course, that was Stanley—and then I loved
Stanley and just kept going back there ever
since.

You said something about your broken neck.

That was in September of’42. The war was
on, and I was playin’ around. And I remember
it was ’42 ’cause I had a ’42 Packard that I was
very proud of.

I had a friend of mine—was Monte
somethin’ (I can give you his name if you
want it). He’s still alive. But I was tryin’ to stay
out of the Army (this was before I got—well,
I wasn’t 4-F till after I broke my neck) . I was
married, but I didn’t have any children, so I
was 3-A. Then they were really in the papers
and all, and it was getting—the war going on,
and it looked like I was gonna be 1-A within
six months, which I really didn’t want to be,
like a lot of people. And so how do you stay
out of the Army?

And at that time, they had a—and it
worked, too. You could become a ground
school instructor. And they had courses
that you took to become a ground school
instructor. And because of wartime, why
you—you could—if you really learned it, then
you could get a job being a ground school
instructor, which deferred you. And you
taught young flyers all their ground school—
navigation and meteorology, and all that stuff.
So that sounded like a good way to stay out,
so there was a school here. It was just here for
that purpose; someone had opened a ground

school. So I went to ground school, and I did
a fair job. I understood a lot of it anyway, so
I wasn’t havin’ too much trouble. And there
was one instructor that was kinda spooky,
and then there was this other instructor that I
liked a lot. (As I said I’ll dig up his name if you
want me to, but—.) He and I went out quite a
bit. One night after school (the school was at
night) —in the evening, why I said—we were
dr inkin’, and I remember Rita had a Green
Lantern down there. Rita was a good friend of
mine; I kinda liked her. I used to hang around
there a little bit—not too much, but I liked to
go down and have a drink and maybe fool
around but not too—.

But anyway, this fella—I said, “Hey, do
you want to go to the Green Lantern?” And
he’d never heard of it. And I said, “Oh, it’s a
neat place.”

So I called up, and it was kinda late. And
they were still around, so I said, “Okay, I’ll be
down in a little bit.” And we started out, and I
was really drunk. I drove across the bridge—I
just maneuvered wrong, and hit the bridge.
And I wasn’t really goin’ very fast, but I hit it.
It was a steel post I hit, and in fact I bent it.
In fact, it was bent there till they tore it down
late last year; so I could still see where I bent
the bridge.

So my car stopped instantly, and I broke
my neck. And the fortunate part of it was I was
really lucky. And my friend, he went through
the windshield. He got all cut up—but not—
you know, just bloody and took a zillion
stitches, but his life wasn’t in any danger.

But my neck was broken, and I was
unconscious, of course. And the fortunate
part of it was, it was right, you know, just a
few feet from the police station. And they
heard the crash, so the police came out, and
here’s the car and the guy there, and the fellas
that took me out of the car had been properly
instructed. They didn’t twist my neck, which

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

they could’ve paralyzed me. They lifted me
very gently onto a stretcher and took me to
Washoe Medical.

And I had no doctor, then, and so Vernon
Cantlon was the doctor that was on call.
He was a young doctor here, then. And he
came in, and he was an expert on that. And
as I think looking back, he was as good as
anybody in Reno at setting necks. He had a
new procedure that was untried up till then,
I guess. And that was, instead of a cast, they
drilled holes in your skull [points to temples]
—shallow holes— and put like ice tongs on
you, and then with a weight on the end of
the bed on a roller—which sounds terrible,
but it wasn’t ’cause there was no—you didn’t
feel a thing. The beauty of it is you wore no
cast, ’cause there was always that tension. And
you stayed in bed, and there was always that
tension. So it was very new then. So I didn’t
have the cast with all the itching and all the
discomfort.

So anyway, I was in the hospital for nine
weeks, I think it was, and fully recovered. And
of course, I was automatically 4-F. And then
this Monte (whatever his name was) —they
patched him up, and they did an excellent
job. They sewed him up, so today you can’t
see a scar. And of course, I was concerned—
well, we were good friends. But still good
friends, when there’s somethin’ like that, they,
you know—sometimes there’s a big lawsuit
and this and that. And I paid all of Monte’s
expenses in the hospital. And I didn’t ask for a
release or anything; we were just friends, and
I told him, “I’m sorry.”

And he said, “Hell, we were both drunk.”
And he never, ever did a thing. And today
he lives in Illinois, and we send each other
Christmas cards and he writes on his what
he’s doin’ now and da da da da da.

So although I was out of action for six
weeks, I could, you know, I could keep in

touch, and Bob Ring’d come to see me every
day. That’s when my father said—it was really
funny what he said. He was mad at me. He
didn’t come to see me in the hospital; he kept
in touch. Then when I got out, he came up;
and he said, “You know, you were a goddamn
fool for breakin’ your neck. But,” he says, “as
long as you had to do it,” he said, “I’m glad
you did it now!” [chuckles] —because it made
me 4-F.

And Dr. Cantlon—that was a funny story.

He was Edwin’s older brother, but he
looked younger. He was one of those people
that had kind of a baby face. And of course,
in ’42, he couldn’t’ve been much over thirty¬
something. He’d gone to Harvard—I think—
medical school. He only practiced a couple
of years. But he looked like he was about
eighteen.

So anyway, why, they heard I was hurt, and
of course, Bob Ring rushed to the hospital.
And I was in the operating room or whatever,
where they were puttin’ the tongs on me. So
it took an hour or so, and everybody’s real
nervous. So then Cantlon came out. And Bob
Ring’s waiting. Cantlon went, and I guess he
knew who Bob was or something. So he went
to him; he said, “Mr. Harrah’s gonna be okay.”
He said, “He’s broke his neck, but it’s gonna-it’s
gonna take a couple of months and he’s gonna
be okay.”

So Bob—this young punk is tellin Bob
this, and Bob said, “Well, thank you very
much, but I’d like to talk to the doctor”
[laughing]. Cantlon had been through that
enough times that it didn’t bother him any
more, you know. And then over the years we
all would have dinner together until Cantlon
died; why, we’d always tell that joke about Bob
Ring, who wanted to talk to the doctor!

But that was really good in a way—I
mean it taught me a lot of things. But also, I
had drank every day for years; that was a way

William F. Harrah

of life. And being in the hospital there and
flat on my back—and Id said I didn’t want a
drink and couldn’t drink if I wanted to. And
I loved to read, anyway, so I got caught up on
my reading and had a wonderful rest and no
liquor. So when I came out of there—although
I was wobbly on my feet at first, but of course,
I got over that real fast—but I’d lost my pot, I’d
lost a lot of weight, and no more shakes, and
just—it was wonderful. Although I started
drinkin’ again, it was quite different.

You really were lucky there.

Yeah, I was, ’cause I could’ve been
paralyzed or killed.

And lucky with the business, too, having
somebody who could take over.

Oh yeah. Bob was just—you know, he
handled my money better than I did.

Yeah. By September, you know, when I
was in Stanley, and then when I came back,
we had not a huge bankroll, but we were in
good shape. And then our first winter, things
slowed down a lot more then than they
do now. And we had to learn to cut down.
But there was no doubt of the place being
successful, except occasionally, like a Sahati
would come in. “Nick the Greek” played with
us a little bit, although he never won anything
from us. But we had some pretty big Crap
games, at least big for us at the time, which
was kinda scary.

After the first winter and the next summer,
we knew we were established then. By then,
we’d learned an awful lot about what to do
and what not to do. So it was successful, and I
guess in the first year, I paid off my loans and
all, and I think we were in pretty good shape.

Well, of course, the big thing was to avoid
the cheaters, and then the other thing was
to watch your expenses very closely because
expenses are extremely high in the casino
’cause everybody’s paid quite high compared
to the surrounding jobs. So just a few days
of very slow business and with a, you know,
quite a big nut [daily expense) (I’d had no idea
what it was in those days, but it had to be in
the thousands), why you could get in trouble
real fast.

And I remember Wayne Martin—I
remember one, it was a severe winter. It was
either our first winter or our second winter.
But there was snow in the streets of Reno.
They had to use snowplows; it was very heavy.
And I came down one day, and there was so
much snow that people just stayed away from
downtown, and you could park anywhere on
Second Street and just about anywhere on
Virginia Street. Then, they were streets that
had been plowed. There was just nobody
around. Then I went in the club—I think it
was Wayne’s day off (and he didn’t have many
of those either) —and I went in the club, and
there wasn’t a customer. And here we had all
our dealers and all our bartenders and all—.
Of course, it was maybe ten in the morning,
when you wouldn’t expect much in January
or February. But I thought, “Brother! This
rate and our eight-thousand-dollar nut” or
whatever it was—I said, “It isn’t going to take
us long to get out of business here.” And that’s
something I learned that’s almost true today.
Many executives in any line of business are
very slow to act, or quite often are very slow to
act. And we have the same problem here. Just
like today Lloyd Dyer and I were talkin’ about
something; he and I had felt it was a good idea
the other day, or within a month, and it should
have been done in a week, and it isn’t done yet.
And he said, “We’re too slow to act.”

And I said, “You’re right, you’re right.”

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

But anyway, it’s just—even real dedicated—
like Bob Ring, who’s as dedicated as anybody,
will still be slow to act in a way, because you
may have to lay somebody off or lay ’em of f a
few days, and fire the janitor and, you know—
to cut a nut, you gotta cut it. And most people
don’t want to. They want to quit sp endin’ the
money, but they don’t want to hurt anybody,
and usually you have to hurt somebody.

So anyway, there’s no business and that.
And I called Wayne Martin, and I said, “Come
on down here. We got a big problem.”

And he—’’What is it?” He thought we
were gettin’ cheated or something.

I said, “Just there’s no business, and we
got a big nut here. We got to take a big look
at this thing.”

He came down, and Wayne was really
super guy, in that you get the message to
him—which he got right away—and he’d just
start workin’ on it. And he said, “Well, we
don’t really need that; we don’t really need
that”—and he cut her way down and laid
off—and laid off his friends and everything.
We were still in business. We had a Crap
table, and we had a couple of “21” tables. I
think our Faro Bank, maybe we closed it on
the graveyard. We just cut way down where
it was a real healthy little nut we had that we
could maybe not meet it every day, but we
could—you know, there was no question we
were going to stay in business. He also worked
on being able to expand it. Saturday came
and we put more games in, there’d be some
business, and he’d get some dealers; so he did
a super job there.

The two things—you know, a casino as a
business is, well, there’s many, but one is to not
get cheated. And then also, like any business,
watch your nut extremely close, and vary it
according to the amount of business, or you
can just get eaten up. So when we had that in
control, then it was just—we had promotions

of various kinds and so on and still played
with our Bingos.

[Wayne] was just a wonderful man, one
of the nicest men I ever knew; but he was
born with two and a half strikes on him,
health-wise, ’cause he had a bad back—he
walked around kinda with a shuffle and bent
over. He worked in—was married, but no
children. And in the war, why, he got a job in
San Francisco in a defense industry for several
years, which was a big change for him. Born
and raised in Nevada and have to go to San
Francisco and live in San Francisco, work,
and fight the traffic and the San Francisco
people—he just hated it. And after a couple
of years, he was drafted anyway and was
instantly 4-F because of the many things
wrong with him. Then he came back to work;
and then, of course, that worked in perfectly
for my plans, because he was available to open
the place.

But besides his back he had—I can’t
remember all the— it’s hard to think of
anything that you can have that he didn’t
have. And he didn’t have any bad habits; he
drank but not to excess, and I don’t think he
even smoked. But you name it, he had it, and
most of it was just inherited. So finally he died
quite young, I can say now—I think he was
probably in his fifties. And I don’t remember
what he died of, but it was just something
that he had that killed him like—(well, I don’t
remember; I guess it doesn’t matter)

The war was over, then the Japs wanted
their place back, which I tried to argue with
them there a little bit ’cause I had a good thing;
but they got it back okay. And then I still had
the other one, which later—that’s when Pappy
Smith made the deal with Chase.

Oh, Dr. Chase owned the building at
Virginia and Douglas Alley (that’s Douglas,
isn’t it? And Lincoln goes this way). He’d

William F. Harrah

owned it, and it had been in his family for
many years. He was a—I forget what kind of a
doctor he was, but he lived in Los Angeles. He
didn’t come around; he was just a name, and
Mr. Yori was his agent here. So Yori was the
man you dealt with, and Yori was very slow.

So we had the Bingo in the corner, and
Chase was the landlord (Yori was his agent)
, and three-year lease; and at the end of two
years maybe I’d get another three-year lease.
And Harolds Club was next door; they owned
their building. So then they were doing real
good, and they got the property behind. So
then Harolds Club wanted to expand some
more, and they wanted to get where we were.
I didn’t know about that at the time, and we
were friendly. And it was all Raymond I.
then; Harold was around, and Raymond A.
was around, but Raymond I. was The Man.
And we were good friends, as I said, with our
doors and all. But then I went to Yori for my
new lease, and I was havin’ a little problem.
And then somehow I got wind that there was
something going on, that Harolds was tryin
to get my lease or a lease on the property that
I had—a master lease on the building, or buy
the building.

So I called Dr. Chase, and either he came
up or I went down to see him—and I don’t
know, maybe both. But I was in Los Angeles,
and I was in his office. And I said, “I’m real
concerned. I hear that Raymond I. or Harolds
Club is talkin’ to you about a lease on the
building. And I’d be out on my ear; and how
’bout it?”

And he said, “No, Bill, don’t you worry
about it.” He said, “You’ve been an excellent
tenant for these six years or eight years,
whatever it is. You’ve been absolutely excellent.
You’ve kept your property up good and clean
and nice and paid your rent right on the day,
and we couldn’t ask for a better— a little raise
once in while, and you didn’t squawk—you

just took the raise. We love you as a tenant.
Just don’t even think about it.”

So I said, “Oh, wow. That’s wonderful.
That’s nice, fine, good.”

Then the rumors kept persisting. My
father was around, and I kept him fully
informed. And I said, “We may have a
problem here. It looks like—and I don’t know
what’s goin’ on, but I think they’re workin’ on
a master lease.” So then we heard the papers
were being drawn and that Raymond I. had
gone to L.A. to sign the papers. So I got that,
and it was pretty accurate, too—I don’t know
where I got it. And so I called my father in
Los Angeles, and I said, “Get up to Dr. Chase’s
office right away and see what’s goin’ on up
there.” And my father had been to see him. So
my father went up, and Raymond I. was there
and inside, da-da-da-da-da.

And so he came out, and they were shakin’
hands and all. And my father said, “I want to
see you, Dr. Chase.”

“Yes, what about?”

“Well, Bill’s concerned.”

And he said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Harrah.
But,” he said, “I’ve leased the place to Mr.
Smith, and you’ll have to deal with him.”

And so my father said—and either Chase
had told him and me—he said, “Well, you told
us that we had nothing to worry about, that
we were excellent tenants, and we could stay
there as long as we wanted.”

And then Chase answered, which is a
real tricky answer. And I’ve heard it from
other sources; it’s somethin’ to watch out for.
“Yes, I said that. But, Mr. Smith (I’m an old
man now, or I’m getting up in years)—Mr.
Smith made me such a tremendous offer for
the property that for the sake of my children
and grandchildren, I couldn’t afford to turn
it down— for their sake.” See, he wasn’t doing
anything against me; he was doin’ somethin’
for his kids. So it solved his conscience,

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

but it knocked me out of the ballpark. But
fortunately I’d had the other place down the
street, and then I got to stay there for a couple
of years while they were makin’ plans. I didn’t
get kicked out right away, but it was quite an
education.

Did that create some bad feelings between you
and the Smiths after all those years ?

Yeah, it did, yeah. Yeah, it was dirty
pool. And I didn’t want to get in a fight with
Raymond I.—he was too big—but I said,
“Gee whiz. You know, we’re good neighbors
here, and all of a sudden—.” He said, “Bill,
I had to get the place, and you got down
there, you got—you know, da-da-da—
you’ve got this and that.” So I maintained
my friendship with him, but I didn’t feel
as good, you know. I respected him for his
business ability, and we worked together till
he died on all sorts of things—politics, you
know.

He was a great one for the John Birch
Society. He used to come and see me on that
and bring all the books and talk to me for
an hour. And I felt much like he did, which
I told him. I said, “I’m for balanced budgets,
I’m for this, that, and the other.” But he didn’t
have anyone else to talk to, I don’t believe,
that would listen; so I would listen, and so—.
And I don’t regret it a bit; it was an hour of
my time about every two months and to
listen to Pappy Smith talk about government
goin to hell and the damn this-and-that. And
it was good for him; it didn’t hurt me any.
He was okay, except it was kinda—. Then
when you are competitors, why, you push
and shove; so I’d’ve probably done the same
thing if I’d’ve been him.

You had some other neighbors in this area up
here — some other casinos like Fitzgerald’s.

And there was a hamburger stand in therefor
a while.

Yeah, that was George Johnson—he was
on the corner. Of course, I beat him out of the
lease, so I guess I couldn’t—. He and I were
good friends. We opened about the same time.
George Johnson—he’s now in Sacramento,
you know. He has a couple of motels down
there. I see him once in a while. He’s just the
same as he always was. I remember it was the
hamburgers for a dime, and he did very well
there. But then I needed that, and so I went to
Yori and offered more rent and really beat him
out of it. But we stayed pretty good friends.
We see each other.

But let’s see, there was that and the—.
So we had the whole corner, then, enlarged
our Bingo, and we had several years of that.
And then next was Harolds, and then next
was the Reno Club, which I mentioned. Next
was Murray Jacobs, and next was Robbins,
which is now the Nevada Club, although I
think Robbin still owns the building—part
of it. And then Joe and Pick Hobson had the
next building. That was the Frontier, which
we later bought out. And then we were next
and then the bank.

Joe and Pick, they bought that building.
It was terrible, as I remember, at the time.
See, they made a lot of money in Hawthorne
during the war. And they came to town
with several hundred thousand dollars,
and I didn’t have that kind of money. And
that building was for sale for thirty or forty
thousand dollars, and they bought it—maybe
fifty.

And later we bought a lease from them
for a million and somethin’—we paid for a
lease—which put Joe and Pick on the right
road. And then, of course, we had an option
in it to buy it, which we always—to get that.
And then later—well, when we leased it, then

William F. Harrah

we tore the wall out. And then that was a
whole new ball game cause we were, I guess,
twenty-five feet.

[Looking at map] Yeah, Murray had his
thirteen feet, and then we had a falling out. He
got to hangin around the bar, and I think he
thought I was makin a lot more money than I
was. And he kinda tried to roust me in a way,
which was unpleasant. We had a few words,
and (what did I do? I did somethin’)—. Oh
yeah, in fact it got where it didn’t amount to
much any more, and he would become real
tough. He was my landlord, and he was real
ornery. And the time had come to get out, and
he wanted to keep my bar, which I wanted.
And we didn’t have any agreement on it, and
we just—it was a handshake sort of a deal. So
I was kinda mad at him.

So I went in there—I hired a crew, and
I went in there one night—it was kinda fun.
And we took the bar out and put it on a truck
and drove away. And then when he came
down the next day, all he had was a vacant
room, which really shook him up. I had the
right to do that. And we had a lawsuit, even,
which didn’t get anywhere.

He’s a good guy, really—and he made his
deal with Fitz [Lincoln Fitzgerald] and became
a zillionaire overnight. And we’re real good
friends now, which shows you how things
work out ’cause we liked each other, anyway.
And then when we got our problem out of the
way, why, we—. I see him two or three times
a year, and like, any day I can get a call that
Murray Jacobs is out in front. He spends a lot
of time in Phoenix. He lives in Reno and a
lot of time in Phoenix, plays a lot of golf, and
say, “Murray’s out in front.” I’ll—’’Bring him
in. So he’ll come in and sit and talk for two
hours—just what’s goin on, and the old days,
his dad, and my dad, and then our health,
and are we havin’ any fun, and you know, we
just—. It’s not too often when you’re friends

with somebody and you have a failin’ out that
you go back and become friends again. But
he’s one—he’s a real good friend.

Did I tell you the time Hopper jumped
all over me? Where our property was over?
When we were remodeling to put in the first
nice club—and of course, we were next to
the bank. And that was an old building built
on no foundation or anything. You know
how they were built, just on rubble. So when
we got in there—and of course, the bank—.
Whenever anybody’s remodeling next to you,
you better watch and see what they’re doin’;
they can mess you up. So they were properly
paying attention. And we’re workin’ away very
diligently, and old Hopper was the president,
who I wasn’t very close to—it was Mr. Hopper
which—well, we shouldn’t’ve been.

And so he thought we were—well, he
wanted to be sure everything was right. So he
had the property surveyed, and he found that
our building [Saturno building] was either ten
inches or a foot further south than it should’ve
been. And of course, it upset him terribly, but
that had happened in 1885, something like that.
When it was first laid out, somebody made a
mistake, and nobody had ever caught it.

But one morning, it was so funny! I would
stay out late; I’d close the place up, and I was
drinking. So like it’d be two or three or four,
and then quite often I’d stop at the— what was
bar back here I mentioned?

The Grand, yeah. So I stopped in the
Grand six nights a week. And I was in the
Grand and I would hang around and drink
and talk and kid, and quite often I stayed out
to daylight. But anyway, this day I’d stayed
out, and for some reason—usually I just went
home—but for some reason I was goin’ back
to the casino. I don’t know why; and even
though I drank all night, I could still walk
and all, and I didn’t wobble—I just looked
tired and everything. And you can tell I’d

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

been drinking, but I had my senses pretty
good.

But the sun was shining, and I walked
around in front of the bank, and Hopper
was cornin’ down (I don’t know if he was
unlocking it—it wasn’t open yet, but it was
close to opening time) , and he spotted me.
He said [gruffly], “Harrah Come here!”

And so I went, “Yes, Mr. Hopper.” And he
jumped all over me! And of course, I didn’t
know anything about his survey.

He said bla bla bla, and he said bla bla
bla—’’You’re a foot over in my property!” He’s
like this [fierce shaking finger], you know—
’’You’re a foot over in our property!” He said,
“That’s a terrible way to get property!—to
build on somebody else’s.” He said, “That’s as
bad as stealing!”

And I’m—you know, he caught me flat-
footed. I’m a bla bla bla bla. And I said, “Well,
Mr. Hopper, it’s Saturnos—,” I said, “I have
the deed on the property, and it goes back to
1885, and it’s the same measurements.” I said,
“That happened in 1885. How can you blame
me for it?”

And he said, “Just the same as stealin’!”
[Laughs] Oh, he was mad!

And then later, of course, I’d told Eddie
Questa the story. And of course, Eddie knew
about it—he worked for the bank. And he
laughed, and he said, “Well, that’s Hop.”

I said, “He was bawlin’ me out for
somethin’ that—.”1 said, “I was born in 1911,
and he’s bawlin’ me out for somethin’ that
happened in 1885!” [Laughing]

Wasn’t it during that early period that you
began to advertise and decide how to advertise
gambling and when you invented the name
gaming?

Yeah. Oh, we did that, that’s true. We
started advertising. We advertised a lot with

our Bingo. We just wrote the ads ourselves,
and they were so simple then. It just was
two-for-a-dime, eight-dollar games and da
da da— and just took it to the paper and put
it in—Bob Ring and I.

The when we were opening our casino,
we realized that we were a little more bigger
and more sophisticated. We couldn’t do it
ourselves, we wanted a better job done; so
then I think we got Walt States to do it. He and
Wallie Warren were in together. They’d started
a company (I forget—States and Warren or
whatever it was called). And it was a pretty
good idea. Walt States was to handle the
advertising, and Wallie Warren was to handle
the political end. And you hired them as
advertising, and you kinda got your political
representation thrown in—it was a pretty
good idea. And of course, Wallies still goin’.
But the only faulty thing about the thing was
States really wasn’t very good. He was a good
guy, but he wasn’t too good at advertising.
But it was quite adequate. They handled our
advertising at the first.

Wallie Warren went on his own as a
lobbyist—and a super one. He’s still in the
same position today with us. He has other
clients besides us, but he’s still just Wallie
Warren.

He’s always had marvelous political connections.
And I wondered if maybe those early days,
when he had such good connections, you might
want to describe what he did for you.

Oh, I don’t remember anything especially
he did. There was no really political wallop we
needed.

He was close to Pat McCarran, for example.

Yeah, I understood all that, and I knew
it at the time, but I didn’t say, “Hey, Wallie

William F. Harrah

Warren, go tell Pat McCarran to defend—”
cause there were bigger fish than me in the
Around then I just tagged along; I was a little

g u y-

But Wallie always knew what was going
on; and he had a knack, which lobbyists must
have, of being on both sides of something and
being friends with everybody, which—that’s
impossible for me to be. I can be friendly with
anybody; but I’m on one side of somethin’ and
a fella goes against me on the other side, I just
can’t put my arm around him and take him
to lunch, which the lobbyists do very happily
Doesn’t bother [chuckling] ’em at all!

Lawyers are that way, too. (I’ll digress a
minute.) It’s so disturbing to be in a lawsuit.
Whether you’re winning or losing, you’re
gonna have your lawyer say so-and-so. And
then the opposing lawyer gets up and says
that lawyer’s a liar, or whatever he can say
without gettin’ thrown in jail. And they’ll
scream and yell and shake their fists at each
other, and when court’s adjourned for lunch,
they’ll walk down the street arm in arm and
have lunch, and— [laughs]. That always bugs
me. But that’s the profession, I guess.

And the “gaming”—that just—you know,
you have advertising meetings and things.
And that evolved, but I think I probably
thought of it. But it wasn’t a big thing; it was
a little thing. It’s just “gaming” sounded better
than “gambling,” and we weren’t tryin’ to
revolution anything; it just sounded a little
neater like many synonyms are a little neater
than the other.

But we advertised, and we had a theme in
our casino that was brought about—oh, yeah,
that’s an interesting story. There was a bar in
Los Angeles—it’s on the, hm—(I could take
you to it) in Hollywood. And I’d heard about
it. And it’s a six-toot room, yeah. That’s how
buildings are, you know, and there’s just this
six-foot room—was left over, and it’s quite

deep—maybe sixty feet deep, but it’s six feet
wide. And a fella put a bar in it, a bar you can
walk up to and buy a drink and still people
can get by—this doesn’t seem possible.

So I’d heard about it, and so I said, “Gee,
I gotta see that,” ’cause that’s always been
a phobia of mine—they make bars too big
behind where the bartender is, and they still
do today, if you don’t watch ’em. They’ll make
it just like that [four feet or so]. And here’s the
bar, and here’s the backbar, and he should just
have room enough to work and for another
bartender to pass him. But they will invariably
(course, now I’ve screamed so much that we
build ours pretty good, although I still watch
it) —and for no reason the bartender will
actually—he’s servin’, and you want a beer, and
the beer’s here, he may have to take a step to
get it—all this space—I don’t know why. And
you look at bars in the future; you’ll see many
of them—just a lot of room back there.

So when I heard about this bar in a six-
foot room, I said, “That’s my kind of people.”
I said, “They really know how to do it.” And
I went and looked at it; I think the bar’s even
still there today. And there’s a little bar, and
the back bar is up higher, and they had used
every inch, of course. But I’d say the bar front
doesn’t set out over maybe eighteen inches
at the most. And the bar top is just wide
enough for a glass. And there’s room for one
bartender (it’s only, you know, this long) and
maybe eight stools, and in back there’s a few
little booths, you know. But people can sit at
the bar on a stool, and you can walk behind
them. It’s just the cutest little thing you ever
saw.

So they used every inch, and then the
fixtures were very good, too. They were very
high quality. So I said, “I want to meet that
architect,” and I met him—I can’t remember
his name. And he was a fella from the Beverly
Hills area— Hollywood-Beverly Hills—and

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

a young, go-gettin kind of a guy; and we hit
it off real good. So he designed the place for
us. And he did it, too. We had four bars to
start, and they were real narrow and small.
And then we realized that was ridiculous—we
took ’em out. I think we had two bars for quite
awhile.

Then he introduced me to a fixture
maker in Beverly Hills— beautiful fixtures—
teakwood and all. But then I forget—I
think the architect evolved (as he was also a
decorator or he handled the decorating) —
and we wanted a theme. And he thought of
the astrological signs. And he had them all
over, and every one was, you know, etched in
glass and all—very beautiful. And that was
our—which wasn’t a bad thing for a casino,
come to think of it. It was really nice, and we
had everything but carpet. I think we were
afraid to put in carpet. I think we had terrazzo.
And we were afraid of carpet because we just
were afraid we wouldn’t get the general public.
And then later we tried carpet, and it worked
real good. Or maybe we did have carpet—and
we had terrazzo around the bars—that was
it—and we had carpet. It was done real super,
just from seem’ that one little bar.

And that kinda revolutionized the casinos.
Up till then they were just, you know—Bank
Club was real nice, and it was just nothing
exciting. It was clean and pretty glass and
pretty bar, but just zero. And this really had
some atmosphere; it was pretty good. Only
thing, it was a little small, but we managed
that.

You’d been talking about the advertising.

Walt States and Wallie Warren split up,
and Walt had some help. But he really wasn’t
too qualified. So eventually we got rid of
him and got, I think Meltzer was next—Dick

Meltzer—from San Francisco, who was super.
He’s our first real advertising agency we ever
had, really that knew their stuff. He did a real
good job for us. And then he’d come up with
a lot of clever ideas and sign boards and all
that sort of thing.

Then we’ve gone from agency to agency
until we had a real good San Francisco
agency—the last one we had and then the
last—it’s probably been five years we have
our own, which is called an in-house agency,
which is without any question the way to go.
You hear a lot of arguments the other way,
but then they’re phony. If you have qualified
people, you just eliminate one middle man,
you know. Plus you have fast— you get
things done quicker ’cause we just have an
advertising meeting and go. And then another
argument that you have—it convinced us for a
little while—was the art work and that sort of
thing. And of course, we have artists, but the
real super stuff, that’s professional, and they’re
kinda independent anyway. And we can just
go to them and say, “Hey, we want somethin”’
and buy it. That’s just like the agency does.

Well, let me just ask you a little bit more
about the problems in advertising as you’ve
been associated with them, more than the
advertising meetings. For so long there was
this stigma against advertising anything with
the word “casino”, and so you had to advertise
the “show business,” or you had to advertise
the “fun.” And you weren’t allowed to advertise
anything that even looked like it might be
advertising gambling across state lines, even
though everybody knew what it was. What
kinds of discussions did you have to have with
your advertising people to overcome those
problems?

Oh, we didn’t worry too much. I think
we handled that properly; we went to our

William F. Harrah

lawyers. And ask, you know, a legal question,
you should ask a lawyer. I think we asked
them, and they interpreted the law. And at
that time I think that whoever was enforcing
it, the government agency that was, had just
taken a little more on than they had the right
to do, that any word that da da da da da. And
what the thing is—the law was—’’advertising
a lottery through the mails.” And okay, like
a Keno game is a lottery, but is a Crap game
a lottery? And you can define it two ways;
you can define it as a lottery or not a lottery.
And in my opinion, it’s not a lottery. And it
meets the qualifications of a lottery in that
you pay something to play, and the outcome
is determined by luck, and you win a prize
of value. That’s a lottery in one definition.
But the definition that I prefer, a lottery is
a lottery; it’s a Keno game. And a Bingo is
almost a lottery, although not exact. But it’s
where you buy a ticket for so much money,
and then they pull some numbers out and the
numbers are on your ticket. Chinese lottery,
that’s a lottery in my definition. And I think
that’s been recognized over the years now; that
is a lottery. So you can advertise gaming; you
can advertise “21 ” if you want to, I think, and
Craps, although we don’t; the “gaming” just
suffices. But I still would question, I would
hesitate to advertise a true lottery. Like that’s
why they called it “Keno,” ’cause they didn’t
want to say “lottery.” “Racehorse Keno” they
called it for a while. But as you said, so much
more liberal now.

Do you want to talk about the beginnings of
lounge entertainment in Harrah’s?

Yeah, okay. We did that—I don’t remember
if we put it in before we expanded or not—
entertainment, that is. See, we had our thirty-
five feet, and when we got next door, we had
seventy feet. The original was thirty-five,

and then we got thirty-five next door—or it’s
thirty-six. The old one’s thirty-six, the new
one thirty-five ’cause we stole a foot from the
bank. [Laughs] That’s funny!

We had the thirty-six feet. We had it in the
Blackout, then we got it in here. And I don’t
think we put in entertainment till we got the
expansion. And that year—I don’t remember
what year that was.

We put in a little stage bar in the corner
there, and it went quite well. It was very tiny
’cause we needed every inch we could have.
We didn’t have any booths; we just had a bar
and maybe fifteen, twenty stools. And it was
done pretty nice, like so [drawing sketch].
Maybe we had a false partition here. The bar
would be like this, and the stools. And then
the performers would be up here. But you can
see with this, they could come in—they came
in from the basement, and they come up here
and go in here; and they would come from
behind. There’s nothin’ worse than cornin’
through the crowd to get on stage. The space
we had it was a pretty classy little—. And
we had some—well, Wayne Newton worked
here [laughs]. So we had some pretty good
ones, and we liked it a lot. Well, we liked
having Jackson ’cause we paid him, you know,
a hundred and fifty dollars a week or two
hundred or something; and the money was
there—we sold that many more drinks. When
we put this in with our little trios and things,
why, the money was there—it just—peopled
come in and bought drinks and maybe would
play “21.” Plus the joint was so much more
exciting, and that’s true today. You walk in
a place, and all you hear is the click of the
slot machines. That’s where Fitz [Lincoln
Fitzgerald, owner] missed the boat, and he’s
still missin’ the boat—although I guess he
has some over there in his new place. Just the
fact there’s some music—”Ooh, wow! We’re
somewhere,” you know. Where if it’s just—and

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

maybe the man wants to play, maybe the lady
couldn’t care less; but there’s a little music,
she may want to hang around, so it’s a good
business.

That’s the point of the entertainment, anyway.

Yeah, oh yeah, yeah, of course, course. To
bring people in and once they’re in, to keep
’em there. And of course, that’s how we work
it, you know. But like our “cabaret,” we call
’em today—the show will start maybe—or
generally; you can’t always time when the
Headliner Room will “break,” as we say, or
empty—the show’s over. And say it’s over at
nine-thirty, and you can time it pretty well;
but some stars vary their times quite a bit. But
say the show’s over; ideally, if it’s over at nine-
thirty, then the other show would have started
about nine-twenty-five. So people start—see,
they come out, and okay, they’ve seen the
show; we brought ’em in; now they may be
wantin’ to go home. We don’t want ’em to go
home; we want ’em to stay around. So walkin’
out and here da da da da— “Oh, wait! Let’s
don’t go yet!” But if the lounge or the cabaret
is dead at the time the other one’s dead, why,
“Hm, let’s leave.” You want somethin’ goin all
the time. And it works.

You talked about getting to meet all of the
people in the Blackout Bar—the leaders in Reno
and so forth—after it became the place to go.
How about talking now about some of the new
customers as the place began to expand, the
players and ones that you became particularly
friendly with.

I was never too friendly with many of
the players. I’m not today—I mean I know
them—I know some of them—a lot of them
I don’t know, and it’s kinda neat that way—
to not get too close. But then, oh, the man

who loses fifty thousand—I’m not the best
in the world to handle him, and we have
professionals that can handle him (and also
I’m the guy supposedly that got the fifty). I’m
in a different position than an employee. An
employee can sympathize. He can say, “Gee
whiz. I know how you feel. I blew twelve
thousand last week at Harvey’s. I—” da da
da. Where I can’t say that, so it’s really good
to get not—still am friendly—”How do you
do,” da da da da da. And then, I don’t get too
close. And it works real good.

I had a thought there that was pretty good.
[Pause] Well, I guess I kinda said it, that our
good players like Rome Andreotti or [Merton]
Mert Smith who know them ten times better
than I do. And it’s a good arrangement. In
fact, like the golf tournaments, which I don’t
go to because I’m not a golfer—but the tact
that I’m not around too much I guess gives
me an air of mystery, or something. So when
I do see them, why, they’re quite impressed
that Bill Harrah said hello (which sounds
kind of snooty but it works real good) . One
of ’em, Art Berbarian, a fella from around
Fresno, very wealthy man, an early family
down there, and they own just field after
field—wonderful, productive land. And he’s a
zillionaire. And I think he had four brothers,
and they own thousands of acres. And his
brothers have died over the years, by accident,
and this and that, and he’s the only one left.
And of course, they were married and wives
and things, but still, a lot of it’s still in the
family; and he has all this—. And he’s ’bout
our best customer. And he and I are “Art”
[and] “Bill” sort of a thing. But still I think
I’m not too close to him. I will be at the Lake,
and he may be sitting in the next booth or
something, and I’ll go over and “How ya doin’,
Art?” and all. (course, I always find out how
he’s done beforehand.) But he’s about our best
player. So I know him, but not like—see, I’d

William F. Harrah

never had dinner with him. I’ve had a drink
with him. We sell him Rolls Royces, or give
him Rolls Royces. He has a son that I think
we sold a Ferrari real cheap.

But it’s an awkward position, very
awkward. In the old days when I was on the
floor, I didn’t, ’cause I didn’t know enough
about the games, but occasionally I would
be the floor boss. That meant Wayne had to
leave for an hour or so and I would take over.
And I couldn’t tell if the Craps were phony,
but I could handle everything else. But the
awkward thing, which I learned real fast,
that where Wayne could say no, I couldn’t say
no. I mean I could say no, but it wouldn’t be
accepted ’cause I was the guy, and it was my
money, and so I was a cheapskate for sayin no.
But anyone else—Bob Ring or Wayne—they
could pass the buck. And they’d say, “Oh gee,
I’d love to give it to you, but if I do, Bill’ll raise
hell”— which is—you know—doesn’t bother
me any, if you gotta say that. But it’s tough
being the—you know.

When did Warren Nelson start working for
you?

Oh, he started at the opening. Wayne
Martin got him. Wayne knew him and
brought him in to run the Keno. Yeah. That
was Warren—see, he came out of Montana
where there was a lot of Keno up there—Butte.

Warren and I are friends today. I know
him, you know, Gaming Commission things
and all that—’’Warren,” “Bill,” you know. I’ve
known his wife; in fact, I knew them before
they got married, and I knew her before they
got married.

He ran the Keno for us, but he brought
everyone from Montana to work in the
Keno—which at the time made sense— ’cause
that’s where they’d had Keno for years, and
there were a lot of trainees; so it was easy.

Montana kids were good, and a lot of ’em we
have came from Montana.

But it got to be a sore point that if a fella
wasn’t from Montana, he didn’t amount
to much in Warren’s eyes. Warren was an
independent thinker which is okay. But when
he’s workin’ for you—and occasionally he
would do somethin’ against the rules, which
didn’t hurt the place any, but he ran it like it
was his own place. And he would do that—I’d
come back; I’d say, “Why the hell did you do
that? That isn’t what I want.”

And he’d say, “Well that’s the way it should

be.”

And I’d say, “Warren, you’re mixed up
here!” I said, “I’m—you know—” which I
wouldn’t say it exactly that way. But what I
meant to say, or I meant was, “It’s my place;
I want it run this way. And if you have your
own place, you wanna run it that way—”
which I guess he finally did! [Laughs] And he
would fight you, you know. This was the way
it should be, by golly; and he was sure of that.

[Warren Nelson] was right below Wayne,
as I guess he was the manager. But it seemed
the Montana boys were in all the key jobs. A
promotion came along, a Montana boy got it,
which was okay for a while, but then when we
got well established and became a pretty good
place, why, then as anyone can see, they made
a morale problem. And Warren had always
been ambitious, which is—nothin’ wrong with
that—that’s to be admired.

So as time went on, there was a little more
strain, possibly, between us; he realty favored
his buddies from Montana, and they could do
no wrong. And so finally one time, I think the
break-off was between Warren and I, and it
was just something that he did for one of his
fellas to kinda cover up for him, which wasn’t
a terrible thing, but it just wasn’t right. We had
a few words, and he was ready to move on;
so we parted friends—you know, we’ve been

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

friends, and we were friends the next day. In
fact, we didn’t even raise our voices; it was just
we both agreed that it was time to leave. And
he was a super guy in the casino.

I had a lot of faith in Wayne, but I had
as much or more in Warren. Warren was in
that pit, I didn’t care—Eddie Sahati, anybody,
could be playin’; it didn’t bother me a bit ’cause
Warren knew everything that needed to be
known. And he kept up; there’s new things—
although even today there’s new angles, and
we have to really watch it. But Warren—some
people would just stay; I’m sure you’ve seen
those kind of people, like they couldn’t learn
anything new, and Warren was always looking
for something.

Did you have any others like that in those early
days?

Oh, yeah, we had a whole bunch of ’em
and there was one fellow—was a super guy.
Billy Panelli. He was our Faro Bank guy.

He was an old family guy. And he was
Italian, but his face looked—his eyes had a
little slant; he looked almost Oriental. And
he was “Joe Deadpan;” he never smiled. Oh,
once if Panelli smiled, why, everyone—”Hey,
look at Panelli! Somethin’ really must’ve
happened!” He’d smile once a year, you know.
And he kinda liked being that way. He liked
to sit at the Faro Bank, you know, and just—.
And he knew an awful lot. And he worked at
the Bank Club on the Faro Bank, and he was
super. I used to watch the game a lot, and he
was—I liked him.

And then Warren Nelson liked Faro; so
we put in Faro, and I think we had Panelli
running it. And there he was one of the
top dealers—I guess Warren ran it and
Panelli worked there. But Panelli knew Faro
backwards and forwards. Then when Warren
left, Panelli ran it, and he ran it for years for

us. And it never made much money; there’s
a lot of problems with Faro Bank.

Then later when we finally got rid of Faro
Bank (much against Panelli s wishes) , he
worked for us as a boss, as a pit boss. And
he was super. So he finally—I think he got
sick somehow. We sure didn’t fire him, but I
think he just got kinda old and sick. He used
to come around. His son is still around—Billy
Panelli, Junior. I don’t know him by sight, but
once or twice a year somebody’ll come up and
say, “I’m Billy Panelli, Jr.” He’s a go go go—he’s
doin’ somethin’ here in town very successfully.
He may work in the casino, or he may be in
real estate or somethin’.

Billy Panelli was a super—he was a
character. If you were casting a movie, why,
you’d want a Warren Nelson and you’d want
a Billy Panelli and all.

That Faro Bank was quite a bit of fun.
See, the percentage on it is so low, you know,
that there aren’t any in northern Nevada any
more. There’s one or two in southern Nevada.
You go down and then they won’t be there,
and then the next time you go, they are there,
course that’s one game where there’s certain
bets—there’s no percentage at all, against case
card in a Faro Bank—why, that’s an absolutely
even bet. So that then you have quite a bit
of expense running the game, so you have
to have a lot of big bets to carry it. It just
doesn’t—.

Rome Andreotti likes Faro Bank just for
the romance of the game, and I like it and
all. We got where we could handle it, where
we could make a couple of dollars with it.
And it’s quite an attraction; there’s a Faro
Bank game. But one thing you can’t argue
against—like a Faro Bank’ll take a hundred
square feet or something, at least, maybe
more. And in the hundred square feet you
could put in maybe twenty slot machines, and
the twenty slot machines’ll make ten times

William F. Harrah

what the Faro Bank will make, or even more.
So it’s just almost indefensible, except for the
atmosphere. There’s some atmosphere there,
but it’s hard—the bottom line, the end of the
year and all where the Faro Bank made twelve
thousand dollars, and the twenty slot machines
made a hundred and forty thousand, why, you
just can t even think about it any more.

We can try it later. I am kinda glad you
reminded me. We might think about that. I’ll
talk to Rome—puttin’ one in—like at Tahoe,
we have a lot of room now, and we can maybe
put one up on the second level or somethin’
and advertise it. That might be a good idea—
give it a try. I don’t know if there’s any players
around any more, though. But it’s the simplest
game in the world to play.

All the cards are laid out on the table in
there. Denomination doesn’t matter—the
spades, hearts, you know—just it’s an ace or
a king, so there’s thirteen cards— [motioning
a stack of cards] ace, two, three, four, five, six,
seven, eight. And there’s two cards in the box,
and like when an ace comes up, like you—the
card up here (that’s a dead card ’cause it’s
played) and the card here—this is the losing
card. And the next card’s the winning card,
so you—like you would take this card—or
that’s a dead card—you take this—the game’s
being played now. So this card is a king, so it
goes down here; and there’s an ace left. The
king’s the loser; the ace is the winner. It’s so
simple—every card either wins or loses. You
can bet the card either way. You bet the ace to
win, or you bet the ace to lose, So if I bet the
ace to win and the ace wins, I win. I bet the ace
to win, the ace loses, I lose. It I bet the king to
lose and it loses, I win. So it’s so simple—it’s
just really good. And it’s so easy to play.

When I said about the even bet—like they’d
come out ace-ace, so it wins and loses, why, you
lose half your bet; if you bet the ace, you lose half

your bet. Or they’ll put it on and make you win
it again, so you have to win it twice—which
is the same as losin’ halt.

But when you get the case ace or the case
king, that means the last one. And they keep
track of’em. Like every time there’s four aces,
of course, or every time an ace plays, they have
a little guy keep score and he marks the ace. So
when there’s three buttons gone, there’s only
one button left, that means there’s one ace in
the deck left; so the ace either has to win or
has to lose—no other way. So that makes an
absolutely even bet. So that’s when they’ll bet
maybe a couple of chips. And then till the last
card or the last few cards, and then towards
an even bet, then they would bet quite a bit.
But as it is an even bet, why, the house had
no percentage, so it was a tough game. But it
was a game you could win quite a bit at, too.
And it’s so colorful—you know—you see all
the old Virginia City—over at the Faro Bank
game, you know.

I had a funny experience, too; and that
was—oh, that’s how I got to meet Billy Panelli.
That’s a real interesting story.

When we closed our Bingo game when
we first came up here— just the first year or
two—we’d go hang around the Bank Club and
the Palace Club. And we’d go back and forth;
we liked the Bank, and we liked the Palace,
and I finally got where I liked the Palace a little
more.

So I was in the Palace Club One morning
watchin’ the Faro Bank game, and one of the
bets I liked was the ace to win. So there was a
case ace. So I reached over and I put a dollar
(yeah, a dollar) on the ace to win. And you
could have chips, or you could bet money;
and I put a silver dollar on the ace to win.
So the ace won. So I thought, “Hm, dollar!”
So I reached over for my dollar, and a fella
here reached over and grabbed my dollar.

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

And I thought, “Oh nuts! I’m gonna have an
argument!”

So then a fella over here said to this fella,
“You stole my dollar, you son of a bitch!”

And the other guy said, “The hell I did—
that’s my bet!”

The guy said, “No, that’s my bet.”

So this fella hit this fella, and they knocked
each other down; and the bouncers had to
come—separate ’em—and I’m standin’ there
like this [hands spread], I went—you know
And Panelli’s up in the—they had a chair—
lookout chair, they called it—and Panelli’s
sittin’ in the chair—and I told you he was a
sourpuss, but he’s laughin’! And I looked at
him, and he’s laughin’ and he’s lookin’ at me.
Then he said, “It’s your bet, you know. I saw
it.” He says, “It’s your bet.”

And so he paid me, you know, and he gave
me the dollar. And I said, “Gee, thank you,
Mr. (whatever).”

And he laughed. He said, “I’ve watched
Faro a long time.” He said, “That’s the first
time,” he said, “I’ve seen two guys get in an
argument, and not one—neither one of ’em
had the—.” They were both kinda drunk
and—[laughing].

But I felt so left out, you know. So first I
thought, “I’m gonna have an argument.” And
then in a second I thought, “Well, how you
gonna—how do I explain—hey, that’s really
my dollar,” you know, when here’s two guys
[laughing]—! But Panelli saw it. But gee, that
was part of the expense of runnin’ a Faro
Bank—was that you had a lookout all the time
because you could phony-baloney pretty good
in it, ’cause there was a lot of money changing
hands.

But then finally we became friends, and
then when we opened, why, he was happy
’cause he didn’t really like the way they were
runnin or somethin’, course, he’d never really

liked the way anybody was runnin’, and he
didn’t like the way we ran it, exactly. But he
was a good old guy—Billy Panelli. (See, I
hadn’t thought of him in years. This is kinda
fun thinkin’ of people like that.)

Regulation, Taxes, and Law
Enforcement

You’d been talking about the opening on
Virginia Street. Do you want to talk about the
changes in regulatory practices that came in just
about the same time? Up until 1945, whatever
regulation was done on gaming was at the
local level, and then in 1945 the Legislature
gave that licensing to the tax Commission. Did
you like state regulation, dislike it, not pay any
attention to it?

Well, we resented it a little like any
new regulation. Like today, anyone, there’s
somethin’ new all the time. But in those days
we looked at it, and we were in favor of—or
at least I was in favor of it, ’cause I’d traveled
around the state so much, and I knew that
there had been and were crooked places in
Reno, and there were crooked places all over
the state. And I thought this regulatory body
would hopefully turn things around. But I was
very—I was opposed to them always—and
the reason, not only because I’m an honest
person, but I enjoyed my business or career,
and I wanted it to go forever. I knew that if
it was not handled properly that it could be
possibly voted out in those days. I think they
even had polls in those days that showed
that by far the majority of the state wanted
gambling. But still it was an uneasy feeling
when someone would get cheated out of
their chunk of money and would go home
to Chicago or New York, or wherever, or San
Francisco, and really knock the state. And

William F. Harrah

there were more than one of those, and it was
very uncomfortable. So the state control was
a real good thing, of course.

Then when the taxes came along, that was
fine, up to a point. And of course, we’ll say
that taxes are plenty high, which of course,
someone not in the casino business would say,
“Oh ho ho, he’s just sayin’ that.” But anyone
resents taxes. But when it is on the gross, it’s
a terrible tax ’cause you can be losing money;
and we’ve lost money—a lot of money— day
after day—and still have to pay a terrible tax
on it.

Unfortunately, there was the last raise, I
think from six and a half to somethin’ else.
And the state didn’t really need the money at
the time; I think it was a political gesture. And
maybe there had been one year where it was
down a little bit; the state absolutely didn’t owe
anything, and was in fine shape. And I argued
much against it, and some of my fellas said,
“Well, it’s only a halt of a percent—so what?”

And I said, “Well, that’s millions of dollars
a year, and the state doesn’t need it.”

And “No, they don’t need it.”

And I said, “Well, just another year and
the state’ll have so much money they won’t
know what to do with it.”

Well, anyway, it went in. So then I think
I asked Shep or whoever was close to it,
“Okay, it’s six and a half—” and the state had
just money runnin’ out of the (or seven—I
don’t know what it is) runnin’ out of their
treasury—and I said, “How about lowerin’ it?”

And “Lower it? Whoever heard of such
a thing?” And right today they—I don’t
know—ninety million dollars, or whatever.
Everything’s paid for, and still there’s not a
word about new casinos coming on stream
every day now. And there’s gonna be an awful
lot of money, and still it’s—which disappoints
me a lot. And it’s not really money out of my
pocket ’cause I—I mean it’s money out of the

company, but really it’s not make or break,
we’re doin’ wonderful. But it disappoints me
that the state, which is so straight—and that
to me is something that California would
pull or New York or somewhere, ’cause it’s
not fair. They don’t need the money, and they
should—sure, when they need the money,
it can go up; and when they don’t need the
money, or as much money, should go down.
It’s disappointing.

You were just beginning to become a big
operation when that first licensing and
regulation started to come. Did you have
contacts with the state license agents ? What
kind of contacts did you have?

Oh, it wasn’t unpleasant; it was just
another government body. But we could see
the need for it; and of course, we were clean.
We may have had some problems, but they
couldn’t’ve been very big, ’cause I don’t recall
any; it was just—. Of course, by then I was a
little away from the floor, but it was no big
change at all, at least in our operation, or in
my life; it was fine. Of course, it gave gambling
a better name, nationally and publicity-wise,
and so on. The time had come; it was about
right, I’d say.

7 he table tax distribution came in ’57, when
they decided they were going to get that out
into the state. Did you have anything to do
with that?

Oh, yeah, we were aware of it. And I
think we supported that because it gave each
county something, and we felt that of course
Washoe County and Douglas County would
be for gambling forever; but some of the little
counties that weren’t getting much would
say, “Well, so what?” “What difference does
it make?” or “We’re in cattle,” and so on. And

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

we thought—and honestly, I still think—that
those old-timers there would have voted for
gambling. But, why not give ’em—and it’s
quite a bit of money to some of those little
counties, and it didn’t hurt anybody, and it
was a very smart move, we thought. Made a
big difference in some of those counties.

Did you personally get involved with that?

Oh, no, I was never personally involved
in anything like that; but I was, you know—
talked to them.

What instructions did you give to your
lobbyists?

Well, just mainly—” Yes, we’re for that. Of
course.” And I don’t know who we talked to
or anything like that. Yeah, we liked that very
much. Gave everybody a piece of the pie, yeah.

Your people were quite active in another of
the big changes, and that was on the slot tax
rebate.

Well, we worked at it. It just makes so
much sense for us—you know. Well, it just
doesn’t need discussing ’cause all that money
goin to the federal when the state can have
it, why, why not? It was just a dumb tax to
start with. It was an old antigambling tax
that we inherited, and it wasn’t fair in this
state; it was fair in others—well, it wasn’t
fair in other states. The same old story, when
they couldn’t do it direct, then they went
through the back door, did it by taxation. But
the way gambling’s spreading now, I think
those dangers are gone for the foreseeable
future, about gambling being outlawed. Our
whole thing is being taxed out of existence.
It’s not only the gambling business, but the
automobile business and the hamburger
business, whatever.

As a major taxpayer, how does the Nevada
budget surplus affect your thinking about taxes
in this state?

Well, I believe in it a little but—. Yeah, I
think a state should be run like, well, maybe
a household, that you should have your bills
paid and an income—adequate. But I don’t
believe—well, a household’s a bum example.
There’s something I’m trying to compare it
with. But I know I don’t believe in a zillion-
dollar surplus that—. So gambling is voted
out and all that’s cut out, which is a million-
to-one shot. And so then the state has to run
for twenty years, and the schools and the
colleges and so on and universities isn’t cut
a dime, while we live the way we have, you
know—that’s dumb. And if gambling went
out, why, that’s a new ball game; we gotta take
a whole new look at things. Well, to answer,
no—I don’t believe in a—no, of course not.

Taxes shouldn’t be, you know—. You
know, the purpose of tax—I will spell ’em out,
but I don’t think I do too good a job with it;
the purpose of taxes is, well, the government
is the organization of the citizens, and that’s
for safety, primarily, and—well, I’d almost say
safety, ’cause protection against being invaded
and protection against fires and that sort of
thing, just protection. And that should be it!
And of course, federal and many states now go
on and on—welfare [gesture-spiral] cradle-to-
grave security—then that isn’t what it was all
about at all. It should be the least government
is the best government.

[It’s] so funny—we see so much of that in
our little Stanley and all up there. Well, like
Stanley is incorporated, and we want it so
[laughing], selfishly, because you can’t have a
bar license in Idaho unless in an incorporated
city. But like our Middle Fork Lodge is in the
county; there’s no city there, of course. So we
just have fewer officials; even little Stanley

William F. Harrah

has—you’ve got the county officials, then
you ye got the city officials, and the—. And,
of course, in Middle Fork we only have the
county, and there’s only three or four of them,
so [chuckling] it’s pretty nice! And, of course,
you know ’em all; life is different; you know
’em on a first name basis. They apologize when
they appraise your property [chuckles].

But you get in the bigger cities—course,
there aren’t too many in Idaho, but bigger it
gets, the worse it gets. The trouble with the
world and the country is people. Just cut the
people out of it, and everything’d be fine.
Animals are fine; it’s the darn people.

Do you know anything about the IRS audits of
your employees on the tokeproblem?

Hm. I don’t know more than what you
know. They were after ’em, of course, and
that’s—I don’t know the answer to that, really.
It would be nice if they were tax-free, but
I don’t think the law is that way, and some
people are gonna pay it and some aren’t.
That’s the Internal Revenue’s problem, and to
arbitrarily assess, I think that’s wrong. I don’t
know the answer to it. but that’s a worldwide
problem; it isn’t only Nevada. And primarily
those waiter and waitress, and, where they get
tips, is how do they handle it.

And this thing in California [ Jarvis-Gann]
is crazy, but it’s a good thing. Like Jerry Brown.
I don’t know if you’ve followed his career. He
was really a smarty, you know, and probably
rightfully so. If my father’d been governor of
California and I was raised in the mansion
and then I got a runnin’ jump and got to be
governor in my thirties, I’d probably be a little
cocky, too. But he was so cocky, and then to
hear him today—’’What are you gonna do,
Governor?”

“Well, we’re going to live with it; we’re
going to—” this, that, and the other, and, “cut

back,” and so-and-so and so-and-so. And it
was usin’ a sledgehammer to kill a fly, but I
think it’s a good thing for the country, really,
to get the politicians to realize that it’s not a
bottomless thing.

Statewide and nationally, if we could
ever get that— that’s my biggest worry is the
unbalanced budget, and goin’ up sixty to a
hundred billion a year, and no one seems to
care. And I’ve asked everyone I know, whose
opinion I value, and I can’t get an answer.
“What’s gonna happen?” And they just
kinda avoid it. Someday—I mean the way I
was brought up, two and two is four—she’s
gonna blow. And when she blows, it’s gonna
be the biggest mess ever, nothin’ll be worth
anything, or money won’t (that’s for sure).
Maybe gold will be worth something, real
estate, of course, but our financial and our
insurance companies and our banks—woo!
Nobody seems to care; that really worries
me. I mean, I can still put it out of my head;
I’ll sleep fine tonight. But I think about that
and, oh, not daily, but whenever I’m talkin’
like I am now. And I make speeches for it, for
what they’re worth. That unbalanced budget
is absolutely crazy. And now they’re talkin’
like Carter was—and you know, it’s easy to sit
on the outside, and there are so many built-in
expenses that they can’t control; but he was big
hero at the end of four years, hoping to balance
the budget. It should be balanced every year;
plus we should be payin’ back! I’d like to see
it balanced and paid back fifty to a hundred a
year for twenty or thirty years, and really, you
know— “Hey, the budget deficit is sixty-eight
billion”—wouldn’t that be wonderful? And it’s
fifty billion and it’s forty-two billion, instead of
seven hun—no, we have to raise it to five, six,
seven—. And pretty soon there’ll be a trillion
[whistles]!And nobody cares—well, I’m sure
other people—I’m sure I’m not the only one.
I’m sure there’s a lot of uneasy people.

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

So much, it seems, of the whole gaining scene
in Nevada has depended a lot—at least in
northern Nevada—on how you felt about it,
or what you supported, or what you designed.
The laws, even, have depended on the testimony
from your organization.

Well, that’s true, and it’s very flattering,
too. Also I think it—. Well, I think it’s quite
proper to—I agree with it [laughing].

Well, it is true, and our organization did
it. A lot of that I wasn’t in at all, but I guess I
started it with the way the departments that
I’m interested in—why, do it right; do it the
way it should be done. And then set policies
for the next guy, and he quits or gets killed;
and so you don’t start all over again, that what
you’ve got to this point, that you’ve kept. These
policies are so wonderful. And spell ’em out.
And there’s the book, and read the book!
And we put a fella in a new job, and here
you give him—it’s really not too tough being
a supervisor, and executive at Harrah’s, you
know, if you have common sense. And you
get in your job, and here’s the book. It just
tells you—and there’s hardly anything that’ll
come up that isn’t in the book somewhere,
if you really read the book. And then there’s
somethin’—no answer, then there’s someone
you can ask. So we tell ’em, “Read the damn
book!” And of course, a lot of work goes into
those.

But those books are not published or anything —.

Oh, no.

Those are just quietly company documents,
aren’t they?

Yeah, yeah. Well, it’s no secret that we have
it. They were doin’ a story here recently—or
it didn’t jell; it was a life story, and so-and-so.

And then the reporter was intrigued with a
number of procedures we have. I think there
were either forty or seventy, and he wanted
a picture of me with all the procedures and
books, where I could hardly see over it. And
you know, I’ve had enough of that; I thought,
I’ll speak up, and I said, “Well, that’s dumb!
That isn’t what I do. You want a picture
of me, and,” you know, “take a picture in
the showroom or at my desk or at the car
collection or—I occasionally walkthrough the
casino. But,” I said, “those procedures— I’ve
never seen them. I know they’re there.”

No, no that’s what he wanted. And so they
had me over takin’ a picture for a day and a
half, you know. I’m lookin’ over ’em like this,
and I’m lookin’ like this, you know. And you
do it—you don’t argue—you just do it. And
they killed the story, and Mark Curtis was
very disappointed, and I said, “Well, I don’t
blame them. That’s a dumb story!” Well, they
finally ran a little squib, and they didn’t use the
picture, fortunately. But that’s the only time I
ever saw the procedures, but they do exist.

But they were undoubtedly written at your
direction.

Well, I mean yeah, they evolved.

Another of the things that happened during
this period that has fascinated me, and its
widespread effect, was the disappearance of
the silver dollar. Remember Eva Adams made
a speech to the Mining Congress.

Yeah, where they disappeared overnight,
yeah.

Would you describe that?

Well, Eva, yeah. Yeah, I know her, and
she’s okay. But I always kinda thought she
was overrated, but maybe I’m wrong. When

William F. Harrah

she made that statement—and it did—people
just grabbed ’em. And then we immediately
went to work, and wed already been working
on some— cause it was getting tight—some
tokens. But it sure touched it off—just—I don’t
remember exact details, but someone would;
but I know it was really quite a thing.

What did you do? Were there conferences
about, “Well, we’ll have to get some tokens, or
what a dumb thing that was that she did.”

Oh, yeah, of course, it was dumb. No,
I think we were ahead of that; I think we’d
already planned our tokens. And that’s quite
an elaborate thing, like our chips and our
games. And they have to be designed properly
and manufactured, and then you try ’em out
and—. Just making chips for the game is a
tremendous thing, to do it right. And so, of
course, these fit into that, so we had been
planning on it. Then we had decided on the
size and all, and it was a size that wouldn’t
go into a dollar machine. Well, it was very
studied, yeah.

Did you get involved in that?

No, we had meetings on it, I remember,
and you know, they’d bring it up to us. “Well,
here’s where we are, and here’s the sizes, and
here’s the colors,” and here’s so-and-so. Yeah,
we talked to [the Franklin Mint people] —had
meetings with them. Yeah, we spent a lot of
time with them—on what at the time we felt
was quite a major problem, but [it] turned out
it wasn’t. It worked out okay.

And of course, they came along with the
phony silver. By then, people were educated
to dollars, and I don’t think the phonies
come back. I know I don’t use ’em. And I did
before. I always carried two silver dollars in
my pocket for one reason. Well, I’ve always

done it, so that’s maybe a good-luck thing with
me, but sometimes you want to give a tip real
fast for a doorman, in your car, or the ladies’
room or something, and that you can reach
like that [claps]. But prior to the [shortage], I
never had a paper dollar in my pocket, ever.
It was always silver. And now I carry paper
dollars.

Well, I have a silver dollar story you
might like. I’ve been a race car enthusiast
for years, and I’d never been to Indianapolis.
And I always wanted to go, so in 1947 or ’8
I went. I decided I was goin’ to Indianapolis.
So we went back there—another couple and
my girlfriend and I. We got to Indianapolis,
and we stayed at an old hotel there, and we
maneuvered around, and we got some tickets
(which wasn’t really too hard) , and we got
acquainted. We were there a few days before
the race, and it was very exciting to—you
know, your first time in Indianapolis, wow!

We took about maybe a pocket full of
silver dollars with us—twenty or thirty
or something, and we got there, and we
discovered they were a big hit. No matter
where you went, if you spent the silver dollars
or tipped with ’em, it was a big thing. They had
all colored help in the hotel, and they would
just come around, and, you know, “Can we
get some of those dollars?” And they’d do
anything for them. So we saw what a hit they
were, that we called Reno and had ’em send
us airmail special a couple of hundred more
silver dollars just ’cause we’d go in a restaurant
and give ’em—and you know, the waitress is
just delighted that she got—that was fun! So
we had ’em.

So anyway, the day before the race I went
down to the barber shop to get a haircut in
the hotel. And I’m sitting there—of course,
I’m a real race car and driver enthusiast. And
I’d read—pictures—I read all about ’em, and
I knew, you know—I know!—I’m like a little

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

kid, and—. I went in and I had my hair cut,
and I paid for it in silver dollars. “Oh-ho!
Look at the silver dollars!” And I tipped them
and paid my check in silver dollars. And as I
walked out, Maury Rose walked in, who was
a race driver. And so I looked—”Oh! Gee,
there’s Maury Rose!” You know, I’m not the
kind that would go up or, you know—I just
looked and admired. And he was a slender,
very dapper little man, and I admired—he
was a good driver, I knew.

So anyway, the race came along, and this
guy’s in front and that guys s in front; and
there’s two cars that are owned by the same
owner, and they’re One and Two. So finally
at the last minute Maury Rose won the race.
Now, pictures and Gasoline Alley, and on and
on, and the newspapers like this and that. And
the next day I’m reading the newspaper, and
“Mr. Rose, when did you think—” he’d been in
the race many times and never gotten tenth, I
don’t believe—bad luck, you know. They said,
“Well, when did you first have an inkling that
this might be your year?”

And he said, “Well, it was just another
year. We had good cars, but we’ve always
had good cars,” this and that, and said, “You
know?” He said, “The day before yesterday,”
he said, “I needed a haircut,” and he said, “I
went in the barber shop, and when I came
out, I paid for my haircut, and the man gave
me a silver dollar in change.” And he said,
“I thought that that silver dollar might be
lucky—.” So he said, “I carried it with me in
the race.”

And I thought, “That’s my [beats chest] —!”
[Laughs] And I was so proud of that! I never
got to meet him. Yeah, he’s still alive. Someday
I’m gonna—. I’ve told that story before; he’s
probably heard it by now. You know, nobody
else was puttin’ out silver dollars, so it must
have been mine that he got; so of course, that’s
how he won the race.

The Black Book came in about 1961 as part of
the state regulations. Did you have any reaction
to that?

Oh, yeah, we were just as strong as we
could be all along for keepin the bad guys
out. And there were many instances where
bad guys kinda got licenses. And that’s why
it was so good when it went state, because
citywide there was really no control in your
little city council, wherever they might be.
Who was a friend of who? That was a bad, bad
scene. I mean it could’ve been much worse.
I think we were very lucky to get by the way
we did. When it went statewide and then their
regulations and then the Black Book and—put
their name in the book. And they come in,
throw ’em out; tell ’em to get the hell out of
the state. I mean we got somethin’ goin’ for us
here that’s just wonderful, and why let some
phonies mess it up? I couldn’t be stronger on
that.

I think the Black Book was—well, of
course, that might’ve been the newspapers
or something, was maybe not handled
properly, but I believe in a list of known bad
people you don’t want around the gaming
industry—nothin wrong with that at all. Sure,
you could have that in the aircraft industry or
the automobile industry or whatever. Or stock
market—they have a lot of stuff goin’, or your
phony-baloney—why, you sure as hell can’t
be a dealer in the stock market. So we’re for
that a hundred percent.

Your feelings about the state regulators seem to
be so positive. How do you feel about the Feds
when they come in to do an investigation?

Oh, generally, they’re bad news. Where it’s
proper—and there are, you know, the FBI or
whatever, and they’re lookin’ for a Dillinger
or something, why, more power to them. But

William F. Harrah

where they try to get in gaming through the
back door or something, why, that’s bad news.
Of course, we fight that. National regulation
could be disaster or just—well, maybe not
disaster, but as it is today in any business
that has to deal with the federal government,
so many times there’s so many forms and
so many rules, and so many of which are
unnecessary. Like OSHA is a good example
of meddling. It just so complicates things and
makes life more difficult for no reason, or
for very little reason, and usually the results
don’t justify the means—or many times they
don’t justify the means. And it just gives a
job to some little bureaucrats who love to
throw their weight around. That OSHA, I’m
sure you’re familiar with that. That’s a good
example of where the federal government
intrusion is just costly and time consuming
and doesn’t really accomplish ten percent of
anything—just bad news.

OSHA is a fairly recent kind of thing. I was
wondering about the FBI and the IRS in
this earlier period before about 1971. I just
wondered if any of your operations had been
the subject of some kind of investigation or
surveillance from one of these agencies that
you might like to describe.

Internal Revenue depends entirely or
generally on the individual. And some are real
straight; there’s a lot of high-quality people in
the Internal Revenue that I’ve met that just go
by the book and go along. And then there’s
some that resent you because you re successful
and have more money than they have and
just look for somethin’ to find wrong. And
we keep our books as straight as anybody in
the world. And they come in and they can’t
find somethin’; they’re disappointed in some
cases. But I wouldn’t—no blanket either way;
there’re some good ones and some bad ones.

Lookin’ at it from the Internal Revenue’s part,
I think they do an excellent job considerin’
what they’re doing, which isn’t popular,
and then the type of people that have to do
their work, which have to be oh, financial,
bookkeeping type of people, and many times
they can make more in private business. So to
get the quality they need in Internal Revenue
is just really a thankless task, I think.

In fact, I think it’s a bum way of raising
taxes. I think if they cut out all the exemptions
and all that and just had a less figure—and of
course, it would be a happy day when they
get the budget balanced and get an intelligent
budget for the country to live in, and quit
tryin’ to do good for the whole world and
all the people that don’t want to work. But
then have just a general, overall tax, and
leave out the deductions and that’s it, and so
much percent of everything, which is very
difficult because so-and-so has to have an
exemption, and so-and-so and so-and-so
and so-and-so and—. And then it goes on
and on; it’s so complicated. If it just could
be a straight six percent or something of
your income, and that’s it. And it would be
so easy to enforce, and normal. But I think
it’s the way the country—anything simple,
they don’t want, you know. Or many people
don’t, your bureaucrats don’t want it simple;
they want millions of people workin’ for the
government and makin’ the life of the other
people uncomfortable. It’s just a fact of life
these days. I wish I knew the answer to it,
but—.

Have you ever observed any of the so-
called skimming investigations, or known
about some kind of skimming going on?]

Oh, yeah, I knew that in Vegas in the
old days and in Reno a little and Tahoe a
little, that there were some operators that
did skim (or whatever the word is) because
it was common practice in the old days in

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

Vegas to—some stars would get so much in
a check, and so much under the table. They
had a big investigation about that a couple
of years ago down there. And I was pleased
that some of the stars I knew didn’t get in
trouble, or if they did, you know, they didn’t
have to go to jail. And then we had some stars
that asked us—which we never did. And I’m
sure glad we never did; you know, that isn’t
it. The money is ten thousand, there’s a ten
thousand. We got a few, you know; but I don’t
think we ever lost anybody because of it,
but maybe they grumbled a little bit. I think
those days are gone now; I don’t think that’s
done any more, at least not to my knowledge.
But that was mostly Vegas, but a little up
here.

Can you think of any that you observed,
particularly?

Oh, yeah, I never saw it, but I knew of stars
that would work for—well, Mert Wertheimer
was one. He’d bawl me out (I thought I
mentioned that to you).

I was thinking about the, take it off the top
before you count it for tax purposes kind of
skimming.

Oh, well, that’s where he got the money
that he paid the star. He took it off the top
before he counted it.

And you know, those type of people
always have the separate bankroll that’s not
counted, for politicians, for whatever, and
just, you know, in the hip pocket sort of
thing. Well, that’s what that is. Yeah, Mert
liked to do that. And others—and I know a
few—I’d rather not mention them now ’cause
most of’em are reformed—or all of’em that
I know now. I mean we never hear of it any
more.

The state people keep them pretty straight
anyway, don’t they?

Yeah, but it still could be done, but I don’t
think it is. I think they just pay it, which
they weren’t really savin’ any money anyway,
really. And the stars will work without it. I
think maybe they thought they wouldn’t work
otherwise, or something. Of course, they will.

I think it’s interesting to know that Harrah’s has
been kind of a model that various agencies have
built their enforcement standards on.

So statewide, well, we’ve just always had or
always tried to have an excellent accounting
system and streamline—zingety, zingety, zing.
And it’s been written many times, and I still
insist on it. Well, I don’t have to insist on it any
more; it just—put on my desk at eleven o’clock
every morning. Of course, all top people in
management, on their desk at eleven o’clock,
we have everything about yesterday, just the
money, the so and so, the number of people
in the Cabaret and the show, and every little
detail on the lady tripped on the way out of
the Cabaret and so and so; it’s all in a report
and it’s on our desk. Plus how much money
we took in and the winners— big winners,
big losers, so on and so-and-so. We’re right
on top all the time. And our accounting,
which I know nothing about and don’t want
to know about [laughing], is—it’s really
excellent. The way it got excellent is—I don’t
know really who’s responsible for that except
we in top management want it right and
want it simple. You know, we don’t want to
have the most beautiful set of books in the
world just because we have the most; we
want it realistic. In other words, the purpose
of books is—legally, of course, you have to
keep records and pay taxes, and otherwise,
further the information you want. And of

William F. Harrah

course, when computers came along, of
course, that made a new ball game out of it.
And I don’t understand computers either, and
I don’t really want to, except as a tool, they’re
just wonderful, and the information—. Well,
we had one problem with computers; our
biggest problem, they were getting a lot of
information that we didn’t want and couldn’t
use. course, the programmers, they always
want to put somethin’ new in, and we were
getting information that was just absolutely
useless, just statistics runnin’ out of your ears
that had nothin’ to do with, you know, how
many people were gonna see the show or
anything like that. It was just numbers and
things.

So statewide, it’s not too bad. And
federally, the income tax is—we pay our taxes,
of course, and we take all the deductions we
can. And there are several types of Internal
Revenue agents in my opinion, and that’s good
and bad—I guess just two kinds. And we had
some—. Of course, they check us every year
when you get as big as we are, not because
we’re crooks, but just because of our size,
we’re checked every year. And I’ve had some
that are just absolutely miserable; you want to
hit ’em in the nose. And you’re a crook, and
they are insulting, and so on. And we’ve had
some that were just super, that we actually
got to be friends. One little fella (and I can
dig up his name if it’s important) that—he got
transferred away, and here and there, and he’s
from the Bay Area. And when he’s in town
sometimes, the gal’ll say, “Hey, So-and-so’s
out here.”

And, “Send him in,” and come in, and,
“Hi, how’re you doing?” you know, ’cause
he was intrigued with how interesting our
business was, and so on and so on.

And when the government had it coining
he said, “Hey, we get this.” And when they

didn’t really, or when there was a question,
then he wasn’t—you know.

So many of ’em—and it seems to be
getting worse—will just demand everything.
And maybe I shouldn’t say that, generally,
because—but there are some that are just
terrible. And we had one fella here (I forget his
name), just got transferred out, that was really
mad about the car collection, and that bugged
the heck out of him. He actually assessed
me one time personally. And I think we had
eleven hundred cars, and the deductions
and all on it, so he assessed me three million
dollars one year, ’cause the cars were personal
and not company. And my answer to that
was, “How can I drive eleven hundred cars?”
you know, just it’s ridiculous on the face of it.
But he made that claim. Of course, we got it
thrown out.

But that’s about all as far as Internal
Revenue’s concerned—I mean some are good,
some are bad; you gotta live with them and
fight ’em.

How about the justice department, the FBI
and so forth?

Oh, they’re wonderful, super. The FBI—
the local, and well, all that we’ve ever run into
were just the local, but they’re the national, of
course. It’s usually when there’s a bomb thing
or something, but my association with them
has just been—couldn’t be any better. And
then as far as the company’s concerned, I just
say a hundred percent, just straight down, just
super.

This is so different from what you hear
about Las Vegas. IRS or FBI agents just
marching into one or more of the casinos. It’s
the kind of thing that you don’t hear about
here kinda confusing, but I guess mostly
bomb threats—that they call, and, “There’s
four bombs planted in Harrah’s, and if we
don’t have four hundred thousand dollars

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

three miles from Stateline by nine o’clock
Thursday, why, we’re gonna”—they’re gonna
explode ’em. And then we’d call, and they’d
work real good. And we’d have a contact,
and some of ’em, we’d actually go down and
plant the money or whatever—we’d follow
their advice, of course. I think one case or
another, where we’ve actually left the money,
and the others, why, we just left dummies. But,
of course, they know, and they can tell; they
can read it and say, “Oh, this is a so-and-so
type,” and they’re usually right. But we’ve had,
well, three or four of those, that were serious
enough so we called—well, we always called
an FBI.

But the kidnapping, no, not really. There’ve
been threats, but just it’s usually a phone call.
And I think ninety-nine percent of those, a
bunch of people are drunk somewhere, and
so, “I’ll call up Harrah’s, and scare the hell out
of ’em,” and get on, you know, somethin’ like
that. It’s never been that, but a lot of bomb
threats. But they’ve fallen off lately for some
reason.

How about the federal and state tax structures —
are they fair?

Oh, well, I don’t think so, no, not at all.
Well, I shouldn’t say not at all, but statewide
the gambling tax is city, county, and state,
which is okay; that’s all right. But the state is
on the gross, which is not fair ’cause you can
be losin money and payin’ a terrible tax, and
that’s not right. And that got in there, and
that’s the way it is, and so we’re stuck with it.
And we pay an awful lot of taxes; I don’t think
we should pay another dime ever! It’s just
tremendous; it’s, you know—well, you know
what it is—supports most of the state.

Then on the federal level, there’s no one to
blame except the politics over the years, and
soak the rich, and give the poor a free ride.

Every year you think it can’t get any worse,
and then it does. And I’ve always felt that;
before I ever had a dime I felt that a graduated
tax was unfair. You know, it should be twenty
percent or forty percent or sixty—whatever it
is—and it should be the same. And you make
two dollars, you pay a percent of two dollars;
it you make two million, you pay a percent
of two million. And it just discourages. And
graduated income tax—and I’ve been there a
few times in the real high brackets. And you
figure, “What the hell! Why should I gamble
five hundred thousand on that thing? If I win,
I’m gonna make twenty thousand a year to
keep; and if I lose, I blow the full—whole five
hundred. So I’ll just sit on my fanny.”

And it’s tact, and course Congress refuses
to recognize it, that when you do lower
taxes, then—you know. And there’s plenty of
entrepreneurs in this country, just waitin’ to
give ’em a chance. And boy, they’ll be goin
in all directions and inventing things and
making things and manufacturing things
and starting new types of restaurants and
new types of stores and just makin so much
money, and the government just take a flat
twenty percent or ten percent (whatever) and
they just have so much money—unbelievable.
But, politically, as they say, which I don’t—I
hate to even use the word ’cause to me it
should be the same all the way; you know,
right’s right and wrong’s wrong. And they
say, “Well, technically this is correct, and
politically that’s correct.” Well, you know, I’d
be the world’s worst politician ’cause I don’t
think that way. And I couldn’t; I hate to say
all politicians are phony, but most of ’em
are. And I don’t mean that derogatory; to be
a successful politician, you gotta be kinda
phony. You gotta stand up and smile and
shake hands, and, “Gee, I’m glad to see ya,”
you know, “Howya doin?” when you couldn’t
care less; but you gotta get their votes.

William F. Harrah

Like they say, the ideal form of
government—and I agree with it—is a
benevolent dictatorship ’cause they just do
what’s right and do it right now, and not a lot
of waste effort and not a lot of waste money
But, of course, how can you arrange to have a
benevolent dictatorship, except occasionally
they have ’em, but it just happened.

But I don’t let it get me down (that’s real
important), and I don’t let anything get me
down. So you do the best you can, and then
the hell with it, ’cause otherwise you just kill
yourself worryin and sweatin’ and—. Pay the
damn taxes, and that’s the way it goes.

Unions

In that early period, was there any talk about
unionizing the dealers and having strikes and
so forth?

I don’t remember any threat of unionizing
the dealers that far back—just none.

How did you work out the strike in 49? Do you
remember the big Fourth of July strike in ’49?

Yeah, I remember. Yeah, I hadn’t paid too
much attention to it. In fact, that’s how we got
the union in ’cause they just—I don’t really
know how it got in. I think just because we
weren’t payin’ attention. And all of a sudden
we had a union, and I don’t know how it
happened. I did know, of course, but I don’t
know now.

But the dealers—there was no thought
of it in this part of the state, at least—wasn’t
even discussed because dealers were very
well paid compared to the other jobs in the
community; so they were just doin’ fine.
And then the bartenders— and when they
went out—and some of ours did and some
of ’em didn’t—then the ones that didn’t were

threatened—and they went out—which I
didn’t blame ’em. So then we ran the bars
ourself for a little while, and then it was not
really worth the trouble, so we closed ’em up.
But it caught my attention. And then later
when we got around to it, we decertified,
which you can do. I remember we had a
picket in Reno; we didn’t have any picket
at the Lake ’cause the Lake’s so remote. But
we had elections both places and won ’em
both handily. And so since then, we’ve had
no unions except our musicians, which
technically aren’t really Harrah’s employees;
they’re employees of the orchestra leader—or
not technically; that’s a fact. Of course, the
union tries to argue about it, but we pay the
orchestra leader, and he can hire whatever
violinist he wants and tire her—him or her—
and hire another one. That’s his job, so it’s not
a problem at all any more. Of course, who
knows with all the new things happening?
We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,
but we are very aware of it all the time.

Did you help in supporting the Right to Work
law, then, after that?

Oh boy, I sure did! Yeah. I’m sure I
contributed and spoke for it to anybody that
would listen to me. But I didn’t go up and
down the street or anything. It’s the same
as I support anything today. You do what
you can do. And of course, you’re so limited
to what you can do that—who knows?
Discouraging sometimes, but that’s the way
it is.

I know I was real happy with that. I think
we won—what did we have—three elections,
didn’t we?—in the state?

I wondered if you’d like to talk a little bit
more about the labor problem. You’re one of
the state’s biggest employers; and even in that

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

early period, in the time up to before you went
up to Tahoe, you had a lot of people working
for you and here a couple of decertification
elections and so forth. We haven’t had the
kind of violence here that they have had in
Vegas, for instance; but the problems have
been just about as severe, and during the Right
to Work fight the problems were really in front
of everybody.

Well, I feel as strongly as anybody can
feel about the Right to Work. It’s American
fundamental, I think, and the union abuses
are just nationwide or—I don’t even want to
go into that. They’re so obvious that—you
know. This isn’t a talk on unionization, but in
our company—and I will say to anybody there
are companies deserve unionization, because
they treat their employees terribly, and that’s
why there are unions today. If everyone had
treated their employees as they would like to
be treated themselves over the years, there’d
be no unions, but so many companies have
asked for it. And they deserve it. But I think
we haven’t asked for it, and we don’t deserve it,
and it’s just another added problem. We have
enough problems as it is, but unionization is
a super problem. I’ll say one thing (and this
can be published; I have no objection to it),
I was in Vegas and visited many places, but
there was one place that one of the owners
(or whoever—I forgot) said they had thirteen
unions. I complimented him on a good
operation. And he said, “Thank you, but,” he
said, “I spend about a third or a fourth of my
time actually running the place, and the other
two-thirds or three-fourths, dealing with the
unions. But,” he said, “I have thirteen.” He
said, “You don’t have any” (our musicians
really don’t count the way it is), he said, “You
don’t have any, and,” he said, “do you realize
how good that is?”

I said, “Yes, I do.”

And he said, “Well, let me emphasize it.” He
said, “No matter what the unions do—” (and
of course, which is no secret either)—but [he
noted that] one way of avoiding unionization
is to treat your employees properly and to have
a board of review, which we do, so a person
can’t be discharged politically—they have to
be proven they were at fault. The other thing
is wages and benefits. And you have to stay
even or ahead of the union, which we do.

And occasionally, we have another holiday
or something, and some of our people will say,
“That’11 cost another four hundred thousand
dollars or something, and—” which four
hundred thousand is a lot of money.

But still, you have to look at the big
picture, which this man told me, which I
already knew; but I was happy that he told me,
anyway. He said, “No matter what it costs you,
no matter what it costs you, do it to keep the
unions out, and you can run your business.

And really, it is a sad story that this man
who I respect— super guy, super operator—
and he’s just in a straitjacket. I’d hate to be a
head-and-head competitor of him without
unions, ’cause he’s right on it. That’s a dirty
shame that he has to spend—well, he works
about a twelve-hour day, so it’s eight hours
a day with union problems. And that isn’t
what the unionization was meant to be. It was
meant to uplift the abused worker, not to cost
the management for mismanagement and
unnecessary expenses. Look at the railroads—
there’s a good example.

Day to Day Operation

One of the points on your outline is about
your reputation as being a perfectionist in the
business. How did you develop these practices
that led you to have this reputation, and what
kind of satisfaction does it give you to have
made a place that is so nearly perfect?

William F. Harrah

Well, it’s far from perfect, but it is better
than, I’d say, all of our competitors in that
respect. And it’s a personal thing, I guess, that
it is just like I’ve said, probably, ’cause I’ve said
it many times—that I like our customers to be
treated as I would like to be treated. When I
go to the men’s room, I like it clean, and I like
toilet paper and towels and soap and a good
light and—. And then the restaurant, I like it
to be—this chair to be comfortable and the
things clean and the menu not dog-eared,
and just on and on and on. That’s the way I
like to live, and I thought—and I’m right, I’m
sure—that the general public likes that.

And it puzzles me today (and I guess as
long as I live, I’ll be puzzled). Just recently, I
was somewhere in a rather popular restaurant
(I won’t name it, but I can remember where it
was) and good food and all. And I was given
a menu, and it was years old and greasy and
torn and—menus, so what do they cost?
Then I went to the men’s room and it looked
like 1905 or something—just—. It wasn’t too
dirty, but the facilities were—and quite a large
place—it was a dinner house. And maybe
they would seat several hundred people, and
I think the men’s room was maybe one-at-a-
time sort of a situation—just unbelievable!
The lock on the door wouldn’t work. And then
I went there a month later, and the lock on the
door still didn’t work. You know, just—I don’t
understand it.

So to me it’s not surprising; I’m just—.
The surprising thing is that other people
don’t do it. That’s what I—. Do you—do you
[chuckling] understand?

I’m puzzled, and I’ve asked many people
why—the dog-eared menu and the dirty
restroom and the dirt in the parkin’ lot that
hasn’t been cleaned in two months. And they
have to see it every day! That’s, you know—
they could’ve cleaned it this morning and then
trash blown in, and it’s dirty now; but when it

goes day after day, I just—it’s beyond me—I
just—.

You know, you’ve got to hire people to keep
things clean.

Well, I mean like these restrooms—I mean
they could— with the amount of business they
do—and they could put in a ten-thousand-
dollar men’s room and not know it. And then
the cleanliness, of course, why, that’s—maybe
they don’t like to hire janitors or somethin’.
Well, the place isn’t really too dirty; it’s just
that the one I’m speaking of was just 1908
facilities.

It’s amazing the people continue to go there.

Uh-huh. Well, the food’s awful good.
[Chuckles] Oh, we go there—we love it! They
treat us so neat! And the food’s really the best.
The men’s room—huh!

Would you like to talk about local politics, in
the early ’50s period?

Yeah. I’m not sure of when—I get the years
mixed up, but politics when—just no big deal,
as I remember—the local politics. And so that
[Baker] gang got in there; it was

Right after Len Harris.

Yeah, well, Len was a likable guy—Len
was okay. I liked Len, really. He wasn’t the
greatest mayor, but he was a fun guy to be
around. And he pushed you real hard to buy
his lousy meat. And I remember gettin’ after
our guys, you know’—’’Buy some meat from
Len Harris.” And I was real serious.

And they said, “Well, what’ll we do with
it?” [Laughing]

And I said, “Well, serve it!” [Laughing]

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

They said, “We can’t! It’s too awful,” which
it was; I got into it. And I don’t know to this
day—I’ll give him the benefit—. There’s two
thoughts—either he was puttin’ the muscle
on you a little bit and sellin’ you bum meat
at a high price, or he didn’t know. And I
like to go by the second one, ’cause he was
real involved and politically ambitious—he
wanted to be governor or president (I don’t
know what) once he had the taste, which
you’ve seen thousands of times. They get the
taste of public office and get elected, why, their
life will change completely. So that’s the way I
like to think of Len ’cause I liked him. I think
[he] was just so involved in politics that he
really didn’t know what was goin on in his
meat packing place.

Do you have any other names there ?

I knew ’em all, but they don’t come to me.

Len Harris came after Tank Smith’s
administration; that was a fairly quiet period.
And then they said that nobody could be a
worse mayor than Len Harris, and they elected
Bud Baker.

Yeah, and proved themselves wrong. But
Bud and that whole gang were just terrible,
then. I’ll go into that—I don’t remember any
names, but I can tell you all about ’em. But
they were just a bunch of crooks—all of ’em
or most of em—and just terrible.

I don’t think I should go into that because
there was a lot of dirty payoff stuff there, some
of which I know about; and I don’t want it
[oral history] restricted. Some of those guys
are still walkin’ around, you know.

My feeling on the Baker administration—
it was that there was dishonesty there. And
the strange things that were happening in
the city. One I knew about, which is the

one of £ the record or would—restricted—
would be George Carr, who I knew very well
and was a good friend of mine. And until
that happened—and he got a big chunk of
money (I don’t know exactly how much) on
that Coliseum deal. I know he retired right
afterwards, and I don’t know if he’s worked
since. And it was common knowledge, or
among my crowd of people it was no secret
at the time, what had happened, but nobody
wanted to do anything about it, and I didn’t.
I thought, “Well, nobody else cares—. I was
very distressed at the way the city was going,
but I thought, “If nobody else cares, I don’t
want to get in where I have to look over my
shoulder when I walk home at night.” So I let
it pass. I don’t know if I should’ve or not, but
I did. But he’s the only one I know definitely.

But the rest of it, I—just it was very
distasteful, I remember that. And quite often
I (I may have told you this earlier) —when
things are distasteful to me, I try to put ’em
out of my mind, which I may have done there.
But the George Carr thing was so shocking,
’cause he was a close friend of mine. I’d bought
cars from him, and we’d raced each other and
drank with each other. And I kinda liked
George until that happened, and then it really
turned me off. Well, that’s all I want to say
about that.

It was the darkest part in Reno’s history
without any question, at least in my time.

Is he still around town?

I think he is.

Why, he’s the kind of guy that about
every two years you turn around, there he
is. I remember he’s bald, and then he had a
hairpiece that said “hairpiece” all over it. And
he was so proud of it! And I know him well
enough—I said, “Where’d you get the phony
hairpiece, George?”

William F. Harrah

So then the next time I saw him—within a
week—he didn’t have it on, and I said, “What
did you do—get dressed in a hurry and—?”
which really isn’t nice, although I don’t have
as much hair as I’ve had—why, you shouldn’t
needle people that are bald. That’s not nice.
But when they wear wigs and things—.

Would you describe a typical working day,
before the opening at Tahoe?

Well, there was the drinking period which
was up through— oh, wait a minute now;
the casino opened in ’46. Well, that was the
drinkin’ period, which I think I got into that a
little bit with you about how I got to be a heavy
drinker. I liked to drink, and I drank more and
more. But I think possibly, if I hadn’t got into
the casino business where the bar was right
in the place, then I might not’ve really got so
heavy. But when we opened with the bars—
and I liked to drink, and people would—as in
Reno—come in and buy a drink, a courtesy
drink, and I would have a drink with them,
which I liked to have—I liked the drink—
which you’ve seen many bar people that will
just take a sip and—which I learned to do
later. But still you have a hundred sips, that’s a
lot of liquor! But I enjoyed it, really. And being
as young as I was, I could maneuver fairly
well; I couldn’t do it today at all with all that
liquor. But it would start, well, at first, maybe
five o’clock, and then later it moved up till
noon or something. And then I would drink
all evening—have dinner, usually—then drink
and get feelin pretty good, but still could walk
and talk and do my job.

And then my job at that time was just
counting the boxes, as we said, which was
usually midnight and eight in the morning
and four in the afternoon (it was eight-hour
periods); or maybe I think it was six, two, and
ten—yeah. That made more sense because

that was like the evening shift ran into two,
and then it was really graveyard. So my job
was to count the boxes. I didn’t count the
morning shift, the ten a.m., but I counted the
six o’clock and the two o’clock, and that was
my regular job and my principal job outside
of the overall, which was kinda fun, really,
’cause there was always two of us. We were
right on the up-and-up, and it was usually
me and Wayne Martin and-or Warren Nelson
and-or the next guy, and-or Bob Ring. And
one of us was always there. But when I was
around, oh, I loved it, especially when you’d
had a good shift, and it was fun to open those
boxes and find ’em full of hundred-dollar bills.
And of course, you’d have to look at the “fills”
instantly, and maybe you’d have ten thousand
in hundred-dollar bills, but you might have
twelve thousand in fills; so you would look
at the fills first, and if they’ve very few or
none, then all the money was profit on that
game—not counting the overheads. So it was
fun; I enjoyed it, and I like to count the money
today. I don’t do it often, but sometimes. But
I like to set ’em just straight, and they all have
to go the same way. And a crumpled bill, even
the ones, I’d straighten ’em all out and—. Then
I’m kinda simple-minded, and it was—like
I’d tell my wife today that—like I’ll see a man
[when] we’re traveling somewhere, and then
we stop and there’s a man has a sign, says,
“Stop,” while the grader does something. And
then finally the grader will move and he’ll turn
the sign around, it’ll say, “Go.” And I’ll tell
her, “Now there’s a job I could handle!” you
know. And I said, “Furthermore, I’d enjoy it!”
[Laughing] So that was countin’ the money.
That was the job I could handle, and I loved
it. But then I haven’t done that in fifteen years,
I guess.

And then when they had some scandals
which—and I questioned that a little bit, but
I understand their reasoning. Nowadays I

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

don’t think they want an owner to count
the money any more because there were so
many of ’em puttin’ it in their pocket. But to
me I think there should be some—I think if
an owner wants to count his money, then he
could ask for a state agent or something; but I
understand the reason for it. But still it’s sure
a lot of fun to count it. Think of all the money
Fitz has counted over the years. I understand
the way he worked, he counted every shift. Of
course, he lived right there.

But that whiled my day. Then at two
o’clock, the boxes’d come off and two-thirty,
three, we’re finished. And usually we’d go
over—and maybe if we had an extra good
day, we’d go over and have a drink just “on the
square,” we called it, where we weren’t with
the customers; maybe Wayne and I’d go have
a drink.

And then quite often we’d go—Wayne was
pretty good; he’d go have a drink with you
somewhere, but he was a good homebody.
And I was a drinker and kind of a playboy
type, so I liked to circulate. But Grand bar—
Grand Buffet, they called it, but it was the
Grand bar—and that was right out our back
door, so that was almost a must on the way
home. And I think I mentioned that earlier,
didn’t I? And Johnny and—I met a lot of
people in the Grand that—Reno people—Bill
Graham, and on and on and on.

Then after I’d leave the Grand, depending—
and I knew a lot of places in town, like the
Riverside I knew Bud von Hatten, bartender
there. He was a real good friend of mine. In
fact, I took him up to Idaho a couple of times
to go huntin’ and fishin and all. So I’d go see
Bud; he worked the graveyard. He knew a
lot of people, and Bud was fun. It was fun to
be in there, and Bud ran a bar good, too. He
was all alone, but he was a real husky guy.
Anybody get into trouble, I never saw Bud
hit anybody or anything; but when people

would get—he would straighten it out and
just—well, he always grinned, and when he
quit grinning, why, there was a message there.
I think he’s workin at the Mapes now. Oh, he’s
a wonderful guy—Bud von Hatten. Has a big
grin, bald head, and goin guy.

But the Riverside was usually the last one,
and it was kinda interesting. Usually, there
was nothin’ dam’; there were just a bunch of
guys hangin around there, mainly. And they
had games there, and the games were crooked
([I] forget who ran ’em at the time). But they
were crooked, which a lot of games were that
way, which if you’re gonna be crooked, it was
the way to run it. [In] little amounts, why, it
was on the square; but then when it got real
heavy, why, then, look out! That’s the way the
Riverside was in those days.

Then I’d get home maybe four or five.
And I usually lived on South Virginia, it
seemed, in various places. Well, I lived at
the El Reno apartments for a while, which I
liked very much. And then I got out of there,
unfortunately, and regretted it. And I kinda
moved around town. I lived at the Napes for a
while, and I lived at the Riverside for a while.
I think I lived at the Mapes for a couple of
years, and I lived at the Riverside for two or
three—till I got kicked out. I like to say that
in both places, and not that I was—I paid
my rent on time, and I didn’t cause any fuss.
But Charlie’s [Napes] hotel wasn’t really too
successful in many ways. But one mistake he
made was, he had these apartments, which I
had; and you just shouldn’t have apartments
over a casino. You should have rooms, where
people can come and go, which they figured
out. And then, yes, he was very nice; he asked
me to move. First I was a little surprised; and
then when he explained why, it made so much
sense that, you know

And then I moved to the Riverside, and
that was the Wertheimer days, which was really

William F. Harrah

fun. And I don’t know if they moved me out
or—I think they did. I think it was the same
reason. I had an apartment there, and I think
they—I wonder if they eliminated those or not.
[I’m] tryin to think where I moved to, then.

It was fun livin’ there. I loved it.

And then—see, Charlie opened in ’46,
I think. And I quit drinkin’ in ’52. I think I
was livin’ at the Golden then, or stayin’ there.
And then I think I went back to the—. Well,
drinking or not drinking, when I lived at the
hotels, I just walked home (which was really
good in a way—I wasn’t driving) and walked
to work. I really liked it, though. Although
I was drinking a lot, I was still very efficient
because I hung around here and went home,
went to bed, and got up, and came back to
work; so that was pretty good.

And then when I—moved somewhere—
and then when I quit drinking in ’52,1 think
I was livin’ at the Riverside at the time. And
then, of course, that gave me another six or
eight hours a day that I didn’t have to waste
sleepin’ it off. And I could walk to work, so
boy, I really put in sixteen- eighteen-hour
days; and they were—every hour counted. So
things really moved then.

Of Course, then, you know, more—and
you pay attention— why, of course, the money
was a lot better then; and it multiplies of itself
’cause I didn’t spend as much, and I worked
harder so I made more. And then, of course,
I was more attentive to business; and I’m sure
I saw some things that had been going on
that I really hadn’t noticed before that were
corrected.

And then the expansion started. You
know, I’d been in not too good of shape for
years and what—I mean I paid off the loans to
get open, but then I hadn’t really accumulated
too much. Then the soberness came along
and payin’ attention. I think our first move
was buyin out the Hobsons next door. And

then that’d double the size of the place, and
that was quite successful.

Wondered if you would like to comment on how
women work out in the organization.

Well, the reason we started with women
was oh, we’d used women always as in the
checking capacity in the Bingo parlors
(afterward to count the cards). And then we
opened here, it was all men dealers, except
Harolds Club had lady dealers. And I thought
that looked pretty good and brought it up with
Warren Nelson and some of the old-timers,
and they objected strongly. “Women couldn’t
deal,” and so on, so on, “couldn’t protect the
game”—that was a big thing.

And I said, “Well, we got pit bosses now,”
and on and on and da da da. And they were—
it was really just anti. Finally figured it out.
But during the discussion, I wanted to get
along with everyone, and I said, “Well, look
at Harolds Club. They got ’em.”

And then it was common that whenever
I’d point out Harolds Club—Harolds Club had
a lot of business, and their slot machines were
loose, and a lot of slot play, women dealers,
lots of “21” play—and whenever I’d point it
out to my management, they would scoff and
say, “Oh-ho-ho, they don’t know how to run
a place!” And still the Bank Club, who my
advisors admired, at that time had one-fourth
of the business that Harolds had. Harolds was
going huckley-buck, as they say; and the Bank
Club was slowly dying, but everyone [thought
the] Bank Club was the thing. We followed,
and then just because of my advisors, men
dealers, and white shirts and ties, and sour
pusses, and shills. And we finally got some
women dealers which loosened the place up,
and got rid of the shills, maybe put the fellas
in somethin’ besides white shirts and ties; it
really livened the place up.

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

But the big thing with women, I think
the reason I did it, which I observed, was,
our place was very beautiful for the period,
very attractive. Tourists would look in, and
they wouldn’t come in. And I was afraid that
because it was so nice, which in some cases,
of course, was true. But many times—and I
figured it out—I think I overheard somebody
say it once or twice, there were no women in
there. And we did have cocktail waitresses, but
they looked in and saw all these men standin
and it was kinda scary. And they looked in
Harolds Club, and here these ladies there, and in
they’d go. So that So that was a convincer where
I was concerned. So we tried ladies, and they
worked out fine over the years; they’re excellent.

And then after the “21” and wheels came
along real fast— wheel dealers—then Craps
was later and slower. And for one reason
was—it slowed it up—was that maybe it wasn’t
“ladylike,” which I don’t necessarily agree
with; but a certain type of lady can deal Craps
very graciously and be a lady. But they are
handicapped by stature; they have to be rather
tall—a lady Crap dealer—to be able to reach
all the bets, but they worked out fine there.

Then a few years ago, we went into lady
pit bosses. We have a different name for ’em,
but we’ve had several of those for years in
Reno and Tahoe. And then just recently we
have a woman on our board of directors. But
there is a innate (I don’t know if that’s the
right word) reluctance to put women in our
company—I’m sorry to say it, but it’s true—in
positions of responsibility. And about the only
ones we get—or generally the only ones—is
when I just pound the table and say, “Hey!”
And then it gets done. But without that it
just doesn’t happen, and I don’t know. And
everyone will deny up and down, “Oh no,
we’re not anti-women!” And I don’t think they
are, really, but they just don’t think that way. I
don’t know. Kind of disturbs me, and I don’t

know the answer to it. But maybe as younger
fellas come up—but I think Rome really is
anti-women in high positions; and he would
deny it to the death, but I think it’s true. They
do a super job.

You have been able to use some in the non¬
gambling supervision, too.

I think we only have two now. We have
a level where we have cocktail parties and
dinner once a year—everybody. I forget what
it’s called. Have it in Reno and have it at Tahoe,
and I think there’s only two women there—
Maggie Beaumont, she’s in our clothing—and
some gal that was in advertising that left,
retired. I think that’s all.

Is it a problem with the other women who work
here that they don’t see that as a possibility for
advancing?

I don’t know, course, we’re as good as any
company, but it still is not nearly as good as it
could be.

Players and Other Competitors
in Reno

Have you had any contacts with the system
players?

Yeah, we’ve had a lot of ’em. Most of the
systems don’t work. There is some; the card
counter system does work. But we don’t have
any problem with that because they really
screw up the game, ’cause they have the
whole table to themselves and so-and-so. So
we just say, “No, he can’t sit down and play.
And someone wants to sit by you and bet
three dollars, they can bet—do it,” which the
system player—and they’ll crab and call up
and, you know, “go to the Gaming Control,”

William F. Harrah

and all that nonsense; but they’re not really
a problem.

And the only system player I remember
that was really good was [LaVere] Redfield.
He was a genius, and he could, he could beat
you. He beat us many times, and I don’t know,
in the overall, I think he probably came out
ahead of us. [He] played many times for huge
amounts of money. But he had a system that
was a good one, and he had the nerve— well,
he had the capital and the nerve. And so
many people will have a system that’s pretty
good, and it doesn’t work too good at the
beginning, well, then you do have to increase;
they’re all progressive somehow. And then
they’ll—’’Well, gee whiz, it’s not working,” and
then they’ll just start playin’ the game. And
of course, you’re not playin’ the system, then
you’re just another customer.

But Redfield—and I’ve observed him
through—we have a lookout—I watched
him play; he was an interesting man. He
would be betting ten thousand dollars on a
number, or tour numbers, and he got there
by starting at four hundred or something,
and it would get to ten thousand. Then his
next bet would be sixteen thousand and
without, you know—instead of going like that
[hand in mouth], he just put it there. And
then the sixteen would go, and the next bet
was—I think we’d get him up to maybe even
thirty—could beat him—and it would come
out there as quick as your head could [count].
And usually he would catch the last bet; not
always we got him, but he would catch the last
one and zing, he’d be out, and winners, and
here we go. But he would, and so many that
I think, “My God!” I knew he was a wealthy
man—and of course, cheap in many ways,
which I think was kind of an act with him.
But he sure knew how to figure out the odds
and also how to play the game. He’s the best
I ever saw, without any doubt. And I admired

the man just—I admired him in many ways.
He minded his own business and handled
his affairs, bought real estate cheap, bought
bread cheap [laughing], and he was nice—.
He’d come in and we’d be talking; then, win
or lose fifty thousand, then we’d invite him
for lunch, our guys would (I never had lunch
with him, but I’d be near)—and he’d hesitate,
you know. Oh, he didn’t know if he should.
And he would go and just eat a little bit, you
know, and then on the way out he’d thank me,
“Oh, that was so nice of you, Mr. Harrah, to
have me to lunch,” and just his—you know, the
two cents on a loaf of bread and actually—and
we’ve seen him do that— lose fifty thousand
dollars and walk home, and we’d check on him
to see—or maybe he’d win fifty, and we were
afraid he’d get hit over the head—and have
security observe him, you know? And he’d
stop at a little grocery store and walk twelve
blocks and go in and get a loaf of bread, you
know, for four cents off! I thought, “How can
a mind—” you know, thirty thousand dollars
on a roll of the Roulette wheel and two or four
cents on a loaf of bread in the same day, the
same party! I mean just—it’s unfathomable!
And he just had his own little compartments
there. But he was a fun man. And when he
had all the silver and it was stolen and—oh,
that was—silver dollars, gold.

Yeah, he was a good guy. We tried to buy
land from him, and I don’t think we ever did.
He would give you a price, and it was usually
a little above the market. And that would, you
know—no offers, no nothin’, just, there’s the
price, which you can’t—there’s nothin’ wrong
with that. Yeah, he was okay. Yeah, he was fun.

He drove Fitz up the wall, you know.
Oooh! I remember he had—I’m not too close
to Fitz, but I was real close to Bill Cashill, and
he’d tell me, he’d say, “What are you doin’ with
[Redfield]?” course, Fitz, he gave him a big
limit. Plus he had a single-Q wheel, which

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

cuts the odds. Redfield really gave him fits.
We had to get it from the outside, but it was a
lot more than ours. And Fitz finally had to cut
him way down ’cause he was just—he couldn’t
get away.

The characters like Redfield are kind of dying
out, aren’t they?

Yeah, oh, you got some new ones—I
mean in a different way, like this the man—it’s
like Cashill, only it isn’t—the truck stop out
here, Boomtown. Cashill, yeah. He’s entirely
different, but he’s a comparatively newcomer,
at least for me; but he’s go-go-go and has a nice
operation out there. I go out every once in a
while, and I tell our guys, which sometimes
I’m a little disappointed—they get in their
little shells and go home and come to work,
go home, and—. I remember I asked at a
meeting—well, I said, “How many been to
Boomtown?” And I think only one. I said,
“God, get out of your snug you get your kicks,
why—. I sure believe in workin’ hard and
makin money, but I believe in enjoyment,
too. But of course, if I’d had people lookin’
for me like Fitz, and was in his condition,
I’m sure I wouldn’t be traipsin’ all over the
world, or ridin’ a motorcycle, or anything.
But I respect them. They’re good operators;
they’re good, honest operators. They’re pretty
easy competition, too, as they don’t really try
to—to my knowledge—to cater too much to
the players. The games are on the square, and
there it is, and so-and-so. But too much back
slapping or comping or anything like that—
take it or leave it, which is their way. It’s their
right.

Harrah’s Hotel, Reno

How about talking about the planning for the
hotel which started in oh, ’63 or so.

Well, of course, we knew we needed a
hotel at Tahoe and Reno, but I don’t think
the planning started that early. I think the
planning started about the time that the
Golden Hotel property became available.
And that’s when the Tomerlin boys had it
and didn’t operate it too well ’cause they were
just—were good fellas but just young kids. I
believe their father bought it, and then either
he died or gave it to them or something. And
so they inherited it in their twenties, a casino
hotel in Reno which they didn’t know how
to operate, and it was a very poor operation.
And then somehow they started to rebuild
and ran out of money. And then things just
got worse and worse until—I forget the touch-
off, what did it, but anyway, we could acquire
the property, which we did, which filled in
beautifully with what we already had.

So then we rebuilt the hotel. As the steel
had been standing for several years and had
become rusty, I believe we took it down and
reused some of it, although it wasn’t quite
as strong as we wanted. But we just about
completely rebuilt it to our specs, which are
pretty good—not as good as Tahoe, amenity-
wise, but its a good hotel.

That opened in ’69, and was an instant
success. I imagine the overall occupancy since
it opened must be over ninety percent ’cause
it runs a hundred quite often. And for several
years, there, we had a policy of never having
a hundred percent. They would always have
three or four rooms for latecomers. But then
we took a second look at it and discovered
there were very few of those, and we could
educate our good customers to give us a
call. And plus if a good customer did show
up without a room at two in the morning,
which was a rarity, we usually—not always,
but ninety-nine times out of a hundred—
maneuver around, or someone was there,
or it’s an old friend, and you could get ’em

100

William F. Harrah

a room. We now have a hundred percent
occupancy, but over the years that did hurt
our percentage.

An old story, which is very true, that you
should keep saying to yourself if you’re in the
hotel business or the rooming business, is an
unrented room—one night, say, a night in a
room that’s unrented for one night—that’s
gone forever. Sol think that’s what brought us
around us, sayin’, “Hey, let’s rent these rooms.”

It seems to me that everything I’ve ever read
on hotel management is nothing like that kind
of percentage.

I think Seventies—yeah. No, like fifty is—
you know—fair-poor, and sixty and seventy
is pretty good. But when we tell people,
you know, that we’re ninety to a hundred,
both places, they find it hard to believe. It’s
very gratifying, really. It shows we’re doin’
somethin’ right.

What do you think is the most important thing
that you’re doing right?

Oh, well, to put it, well, you know, just, it’s
treating the customers as we would like to be
treated. And the hotel, they check you in; the
desk clerks should smile, and if they have a
reservation, they should find the reservation
like that [snaps fingers]. And the room should
be available unless it’s ten in the morning. I
think check-out time’s noon; well, then the
room should be ready by one or two. And
that if they wanted a certain kind of a suite
and it was confirmed, they should get that.
And when they get to the room, it should
be clean and made up and a rose and all the
little amenities we have. Should be quiet, they
shouldn’t be bugged. And the lock should be
secure on the door, and the maid should be
prompt and good and—.

When they call room service—that’s
another specialty of ours, like breakfast. Their
breakfast isn’t there in, I think it’s twenty
minutes or possibly less, well, there’s a written
report comes down—and it’s usually fifteen
minutes. And that’s bacon and eggs and
juice and the whole thing, which just gets a
tremendous amount of—because I travel a lot
and, well, like at the Plaza Hotel in New York,
which is one of the so-called super hotels in
New York. And I like it—its location and all,
although it is overrated. But I’ve had room
service there where it’s been over an hour. And
I’ve called two or three times, and “Oh, it’s on
the way, it’s on the way,” and just ridiculous!
Breakfast, you know—you eat breakfast; you
have something to do. You want to get up,
have breakfast, and go about your way. And
when you have to wait, it’s absolutely—and
there’s no—’cause when you check it out, and
why didn’t it get there? And it’ll be cooked,
the cook will get the order, he will cook it, he
puts it here, and then the waiter doesn’t pick
it up. He’s talking, or he’s upstairs in another
delivering another order. Well, there has to
be a system where if he isn’t there, someone
else— that it doesn’t wait. As soon as that’s
cooked [pounds table], away it goes. It can
be done.

Also, we have floor stations at the Lake,
especially. Those things—which really bugs
me—in hotels in this country— ’cause they’ve
had that in Europe forever. Like the Savoy
Hotel in London and the Ritz in Paris, and
any good hotel, they have a little commissary
on each floor. And you can get just about
anything. The Savoy is my favorite because
they have a butler—he’s like a butler—on the
floor, and you ring room service for breakfast,
and you ring a bell, and by the time you pull
your finger, he’s unlocked the door, and he’s
there in his tie and all, and his pencil and
paper. “Yes, sir, what would you like?” And

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101

da da da da da da da. And he’s gone. “Thank
you.” And just six minutes, eight minutes,
unless it’s fancy eggs or something, why,
there’s your breakfast. And everything! And
the flower and the napkin and the ice water
and the—just—it can be done.

But you have to want to do it, and it’s
that simple. Overall, I guess, it’s to please the
public, please them! And they—”Gee, that’s
neat! Remember the—let’s stay there if we can.”
And of course, we have lots of turnaways. It’s so
simple; I just don’t know why—. I’m glad other
people don’t do it; if you start competitors, or
some of’em don’t—. Just as I travel the world,
I’m puzzled so many—. So many places,
I’m pleased, like the Savoy. So many places,
where they’re just—like New York is very bad,
generally. Like the customers, just, enough of
them! “Give me your money! Get out of here!”
That isn’t what it’s all about. Huh!

You’re really a student of good service, aren’t
you ? How do you think you became that way ?

Well, I don’t know how. I mean I do—I
know what I am, but I like things—. And my
folks, they liked things nice, although they
weren’t as picky as I was. I don’t know—just,
I answer you, I’m puzzled that other people
aren’t that way. You order, the waitress takes
your order, and she should go give it to the
cook, and he should cook it, and she should
pick it up and bring it to you. And when it isn’t
done, it bugs me. And whether it’s an airline
reservation or whatever, ’cause people should
do their job; that’s what they’re gettin’ paid for.
I like a comfortable life. I don’t like trouble; I
like things to go smoothly. I like everybody to
be happy, having a good time. When things
are like that, there’s plenty of problems without
makin’ ’em. So if you can avoid problems—
’cause there’s plenty. Surely in the daily report
here, there’s about six or eight or ten, where

somethin’ was wrong and somethin’ was wrong
and somethin’ was—and that’s when we’re
trying. And if you’re not trying, it’s just—well,
then it’s really super awful.

You must have some particular characteristic
or technique with your staff that makes them
want to be that way, too.

Oh, yeah. It’s big, really big, ’cause you
have to really start—I mean you have to be
equipped for it, too. That may be the reason
for the others, ’cause our kitchens and our
room service and our extra—we have an extra
elevator now, each place, for room service,
so the room people don’t have to wait for the
elevator (which was an old excuse, and usually
true, but—). And that’s dumb to start—why
should room service have to wait while
somebody’s going down to check out? Room
service should go like that [claps]. And also,
well, there’re so many things you can—. Like I
think at the Lake, we have something on every
floor, and I think in Reno here, we’re eighteen
or twenty stories—no, twenty-four. I think on
the twelfth floor, somewhere in there, we have
a kind of a helpful kitchen. So if you’re on the
twenty-fourth floor, your food doesn’t have to
come from One, it comes from Twelve. And
all those little things. And then the employees
have to be trained, of course, to move it. And it
can be done. And we’ve done it for years. And
it costs a little more, maybe, but you make it
up in the happy customers. And I’ve had so
many people tell me (and I know they’ve told
others, of course, thousands of times)—very
wealthy people—and the big thing is, he got
his breakfast when he was hungry, and it was
the way he ordered it, and that starts him off
on a wonderful mood. And I’ve been through
that. Anyone that travels has.

But we stamp every ticket, when it’s
ordered and when it’s delivered to the waiter,

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William F. Harrah

or his pickup time. So we can check back
when somethin’ goofs, where the goof was.
But you have to have people—you mentioned
earlier—and they’re not too easy to find, but
you can find them—people that want to. There
are people that just—you can talk to them
forever, and they’re not gonna do that. Then
you find people that do want to work and do
want to please, and your screening and all—
you have to dig through and find those people.
It isn’t too easy.

All of this is in the background of the planning
for your hotel, and you must have spent a lot
of time thinking about how you were going to
do this.

Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah, of course. Well,
the hotel, we had planned a hotel for years,
either Reno or Tahoe or both. And then
over the years, I had a file called the “Hotel
File.” Then everywhere I traveled, any idea I
liked, I brought it back. Then when we got to
planning, we went through all that, and it was,
where a lot of your elevator, and your room
service, and on and on and on and on and
on. There were many things in there that I’d
forgotten that we incorporated—I’m a great
believer in copyin a good idea. So yeah, we
had that.

And then we had our architect at the
time. We had the experts in hotel planning.
There’re proper ways of doing things. You get
an architect that’s qualified in the line you’re
doing, and then get your experts; the food,
why, you really need technical food experts
to lay out a kitchen. And we’ll have our food
people go over it. But the—well, it’s not
range—whatever it is today, but that goes here,
and this goes there, and then this goes over
here [gestures], not there, you know. All that,
and then the way the kitchen— there’s a flow,
and all that sort of thing. That’s a real specialty.

Of course, the experts charge a lot, and they’re
well worth it; you want to get a good one.
And he can come in and just charges a zillion
dollars an hour, and then you make it back
because of his expert design. Well, that’s true
through the whole—both hotels.

Elevators. You have your own ideas,
which I believe in plenty of elevators and fast
elevators. I [chuckling] remember one that
was when we built the hotel here in Reno. Bob
Martin, who’s an excellent man—he’s kind of
our construction guy and our planning in that
way. He’s in on the ground floor of all that, and
he knows the value of a dollar. I remember
we got into a thing on elevators. We could, I
think, go from the first floor to the twenty-
fourth floor in say, twenty-two seconds or
something. And that cost so much, and then
to do it in fifteen seconds (or whatever—I’m
not sure of the time, but maybe thirty or forty
percent less) cost another two hundred and
fifty or three hundred thousand dollars. And
I remember, they brought it up at a meeting.
And sometimes when they don’t really agree
with my thinking, they’ll maybe try to slip
it through (which maybe that’s an unfair
statement). So they brought up, twenty-two
seconds was so much and sixteen seconds was
two hundred and fifty more. “What would you
like, Bill?”

And I said, “Fifteen seconds!” Just—you
know.

“Well, do you want to talk about it?”

I said, “No! Can you make it twelve
seconds [laughing]—?” And there is a limit,
which I learned, too. I said, “Well that’s—”
(and I averaged it out) “that’s so much a floor.”
And I said, “Well, doggone it! That Hilton in
New York—I’ve stayed there, and that’s sixty
floors, and I know I was on the fifty-fourth
floor, and it took me a minute and twelve
seconds to get up there, so that was an average
of so many seconds per floor.”

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103

And they said, “Yes.” And then they had
a good answer. They had to get their experts
in. And you have to start and stop, so it’s like
a car. You can go from here, ten miles, and in
the meantime get up to a hundred miles an
hour and slow down. But if you’re only going
three blocks, you can’t get up to a hundred
and stop too well.

Whether it’s a kitchen or a elevator or a
hotel, I’m a great believer (and I believe the
organization is now) in getting the experts
in, and be sure you get good ones, and payin’
them what they want, and let them help you
and adapt to it. It’s so true, no matter what you
get into, somebody’s already been there before
you and have studied the problems, and
someone usually’s come up with a real good
answer. And if you can find out what that
answer is by payin’ something, why, you save
time and money and effort and frustration
and a whole bunch of things.

I think all of our planning and building
has gone that way, with our own ideas of extra
amenities, like at the Lake— which is a phobia
of mine, and is well appreciated. Of course, it
adds to the expense, but it is a public pleaser
without any question—especially the ladies.
And it’s a big time saver and a big frustration
saver, and sometimes I’ll say that it’s maybe
good marital relations—’cause anyone that’s
traveled, and one bathroom, and the man and
the wife and the so-and-so, and you’re short
of time, and it can cause a little disagreement
occasionally. And when you have your own,
why, you’re on your own. It’s just so simple.
My wife and I travel now; we can afford it,
but we always have two bathrooms. And
occasionally we’ll even have to rent another
suite next door just to get that extra bathroom,
and they’ll look at us like we’re crazy. But we’ll
take it, and we’ll pay for it because that’s how
we like to live, and we’re very happy; it works
pretty good.

It must be very rare to have this much planning
go into any kind of an establishment; the
planning for the casinos and the showrooms
has been as careful as the planning for the hotel.

Yeah. Well, we have a big advantage there,
which we might not have done it if we’d gone
the other way, if we’d started from scratch with
a hotel and casino and the whole thing. And
of course, there would have been a money
crunch to get it put up. And you have to get
open, and your time, and everything’s going
out, nothing’s coming in; and so you want
this and that—well, it’s going to take longer
and cost more, and you will be tempted to cut
corners.

Where we had the casino going, we
had money coming in every day. And we’re
building the hotel; we didn’t have to open the
hotel any certain date, so we could just do it
at our leisure and do it the way we wanted.
So it’s much, much easier when you have the
income, against when you’re starting from
scratch. And I really sympathize with these
people, and I’ve seen the hotels around town
here when they go, and they’re goin’ along
and this and that, and being held up here and
there. Well, like the Onslow is a good example,
and I know those fellas, here and there, and
I really sympathize with them. It’s going out,
and they’re held up here, and there’s plasterers
and so on, and everything going out, nothing
coming in. And you finally get it open, it’s a
happy day.

How about the planning of the casino in the
new part? Did you spend as much time on every
square foot of space there?

Yes, the company did; I didn’t. But Rome
Andreotti and his casino people—yes. Every
square inch of a casino is very, very important.
And should the slot machine be there, should

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William F. Harrah

it be here, and should the Keno game be there,
and should it be so far from the wall?—and
oh, yeah, that’s laid out. And there’s a certain
way of laying out games—at least our way of
doing it, so many “21s” and, then the Craps
and so on, which we’ve evolved over the years.
But that’s really Rome’s department. But I’m
quite happy with it. And when I go other
places, sometimes I’m puzzled how they do
have their— it looks sometimes like they just
brought ’em in and set ’em there and started
out. And there’s a traffic flow, you know, and
where it’s thin, you want to have something
back there to maybe bring ’em there, and so
on.

Mr. Andreottis care with this is a reflection of
the kind of thing that you’ve demanded?

Oh, yeah. But that’s his specialty, course,
Rome—we have an inside joke in the company,
and it’s pretty true. Well, the joke is that, don’t
leave that chair unobserved or Rome’ll take
at out and put in a slot machine. But at one
time here in Reno, we had so many games
and slot machines there was just—wasn’t
any space even for the people hardly. And
you do have to—where they can meet, and
you’re meeting friends for dinner, you should
have a place to—and it was like this [hands
close together]! I think that was during Shep’s
administration, and he listened to Rome,
which Rome was really strong then (I mean
Rome’s strong anytime). But I think Shep,
because of his lack of knowledge with it, just
gave in a hundred percent to Rome. And
then when Lloyd got in, I think the first two
weeks, or the first month or something like
that, we took out a hundred slot machines and
just made it a much pleasanter place ’cause it
was just like this [shoulders hunched, hands
close], you know. It was almost like a slot
arcade, there was just—. And you like slots,

you like “21”—I mean the customers—but
then you like a snack bar and you like a bar
and you like a—. And now at the Lake we have
quite an arcade up there—shopping, which is
real nice. We always wanted that, and never
had room. It’s such a relief up there (I think
I mentioned that earlier); to walk away from
the showroom and walk down—here’s some
beautiful shops, and it’s very pleasant.

View from the Executive Suite

Oh, we were talkin’ a while ago about Noah
Dietrich. And when I went to Hollywood
High School, his two daughters, Elizabeth
and Kay, went there. We were school chums.
I went with Kay, and I went with Elizabeth
of f and on. And we were good friends. And
Mr. Dietrich was such a wonderful man. He
was extremely friendly and generous, and I
remember that was Depression, 1932 and ’33.
And he had a lot of money; he was working for
Hughes then, and he had a big salary for the
times. He always had a new car, and they had
a nice home, and I remember two things that
impressed me. He was always very nice, like we
went to San Francisco, and we went here and
there. And one thing, the Coconut Grove was
the nightclub at the Ambassador Hotel down
there; that was the place to go. And they had a
special rate on Friday night for college kids, so
we d go and for five dollars—it was Prohibition
days, but you could go in, and I think it was
a dollar and a half cover charge, and you
ordered a bottle of ginger ale or somethin’. I
remember for five dollars you could get out of
there, and you took your own liquor. But what
impressed me about Mr. Dietrich was several
times—once, I’m sure twice—New Year’s Eve
we’d go to the Coconut Grove, and have dinner
and everything. So the check, I remember, was
several hundred dollars, which I just couldn’t
believe at the time.

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Then one time we went on the Hughes
yacht. Oh, that was— the Hilda, and it was
a hundred and eighty feet long. And it was a
wonderful yacht. And it had full complement
of crew; I think there were thirty in the crew
all dressed in their white linens, and the
captain and the chef and the—all the titles
that there are on a ship. And there was just
Mr. and Mrs. Dietrich and the two girls, and I
was there and another fella—one of the other
girl’s boyfriends. There’re some pictures of us
somewhere.

The yacht was in San Diego. So we went
to San Diego, and we got on it and we went
to Catalina, stayed a couple of days, and then
we went back to Long Beach or San Pedro,
where they kept it down there. That was
really thrilling to—really livin’. And it went
into the harbor—it was so big it couldn’t
get in the harbor at Catalina, at Avalon, so
it was out in the bay, really. The little boats
had come around, and they’d look to see
[hand shading eyes], you know. It was my
first feeling of “celebrityness” (whatever it
is). I was six-foot-three and I weighed about
a hundred and fifty-five pounds, I think—
very tall and skinny, and was just another
guy. But I remember we went into shore, and
of course, the little boat from the Hilda that
took us ashore was thirty feet long and was a
beautiful thing.

So the whole pier is just loaded with
people to see the big people cornin’ off the
boat. And I’m just a kid, you know, and I’m
goin’ along. So they’re standin as you got up
the gangplank, and there was a crowd, and you
had to kinda squeeze through just a narrow
passageway, just hundreds of people. So Mr.
and Mrs. Dietrich were first, of course, and
the girls and all, and I come taggin up the
rear, and I’m just goin along. And I remember
I came along, and they were lookin’, lookin’,
lookin’. And they saw me, and they spotted

me, said, “There he is! There he is!” And come
to find out, of course, they were lookin’ for
Hughes ’cause it was Hughes’s yacht, and he’s
six-foot-whatever and, you know, dark hair
and all, so I guess I did look a little like him.

So I went, “Oh Golly,” you know, “that’s
terrible!” And then I thought, “Well, maybe
it isn’t.” So I put my head up [swaggers]
[laughter], slowed my pace down a little, and
strolled up, you know, and looked the town
over kind of disdainfully. (I’m exaggerating,
but not very much.)

But he’s [Dietrich], you know, is still goin;
he’s ninety years old. And he called me, and I
called him back, and he was talkin’ about that
suit he’s in on down there, and he said if they
won it, why, would we be interested in some
hotels, and I told him, “Of course,” but—.
He’s Cornin’ up, he said in a few weeks; I’ll
get together with him. He’s just a nice man; all
his life he was a nice man, just—he deserves
everything he’s got.

On the other Hughes thing—I didn’t
discuss that with Maheu and all that? Yeah,
Robert Maheu. He called me—I forget how we
got together. That’s when Hughes was buyin
everything, and Maheu wanted to see me; I
said, “Okay.” At the time I think I owned all
of Harrah’s; there was no outside stock. So
the board of directors didn’t meet with him
or anything, just he and I. And we talked, and
they were interested in buying. Maheu was
very interesting; he was a very sharp guy.

And, “Do you wanna sell?”

And I told him, “No,” and, “but,” I said,
“anything’s for sale, but,” I said, “I don’t want
to sell. I’m happy with what I’m doin’, and I’ve
got a good business, and—.” But I said, “I don’t
believe in saying something isn’t for sale.”
I said, “If you want to pay me double what
it’s worth, I’ll consider it, but it’s no bargains
around here.” And they got an awful lot of
bargains in Vegas because they were owned by

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William F. Harrah

some off-color people down there, and I think
the state put a little pressure on ’em possibly,
and they kinda had worn out their welcome
anyway, but they made some wonderful buys
down there, very—half—fifty cents on the
dollar.

So then they were—Hughes was —
interested up here, but it didn’t work out. They
didn’t really want to pay anything. But we
made offers, or they made an offer, or I quoted
’em a price. They tried to knock it down, and
I said, “No.”

But it was so much fun with Maheu, and
it was always— he’d come out to my house
at two in the morning a lot, and he would
pretend to call Hughes, which I really think
he was, and he’d say, “Well, Harrah says this,”
you know, “Harrah says that,” and so on, so on.
Then he’d get an answer back, and uh—so—. I
really think he was talkin’ to Hughes. But, as I
said, it didn’t work out, which is fine; I mean I
didn’t really want to sell anything. It was fun,
while it went on, ’cause then you didn’t know
much about him, you know. And now it’s all
come out; I guess he was pretty sick these last
few years, but—. He really liked to buy things
for nothin’, I’ll say that [chuckling], which
nothin’ wrong with that; I like to do that, too.

But you never met Hughes personally?

No. What was so funny, when Dietrich was
there—and Hughes was a young playboy then,
you know. And he had several Duesenbergs
and a Doble Steamer; he had a lot of neat
cars. And I wasn’t anxious to meet him; he
was a celebrity in those days. But the funny
thing—I would pop over to these girls’ house,
and when you’re goin’, you know, you’re a
friend of the family, you don’t call, you just go
over, you know. Or I’d take one of ’em home,
or I’d be pickin’ one up or somethin’ and
we’d play tennis (we did all sorts of things),

horseback—. So I was in and out of there,
you know, six times a week, somethin’ like
that. And I would go, and I wanted to meet
Hughes, you know; I didn’t say, “I want to
meet Hughes,” but I really wanted to ’cause
he was a big shot, and he had these neat cars.

I’d get there, and they’d say, “Bill! Mr.
Hughes just left five minutes ago,” which can
happen. And it happened again he just left,
then, “Oh, he’s cornin’ over. He’s heard about
you, heard you’re a car nut; he wants to talk
to ya.”

And, “Fine.”

“Can you wait around?” And so we’d wait,
and of course, Hughes was his own boss, so
at three o’clock he’s supposed to be there, he’d
get there at three or he’d get there at four, he’d
get there at six, whatever he felt like. And, you
know, usually I had a job or somethin’, so I’d
hang around an hour, maybe, waitin’ to meet
him, and I’d have to go. And then the next day,
they’d say, “Right after you left, here he came,”
but I must have missed him five or six times
just by five minutes. Maybe it was meant to
be that way, I don’t know. It was fun; it was
exciting.

What kind of competitors are they next door ?—
the Hughes corporation?

Oh, Harolds isn’t much competition—
hasn’t been for years, really. It’s just another
place; it isn’t run very good, and they don’t
run it any better. It’s been kind of a bum place
for—you know, it’s not crooked or anything,
but just another place now. It used to be
“Wow! Harolds Club!” you know, but now
they’re just another place, really. I guess some
old-time people that come to town want to see
Harolds Club, but I don’t think they amount
to much any more. We count ’em, and like
we have at least three times as many players
at one time as Harolds Club now.

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107

What kind of competitors do they make
statewide?

Oh, they’re not very good, as operators, in
my opinion. Up at the Lake they’re just, uh—
they don’t treat their help like we do, and they
don’t treat their customers like we do. And
they operate more like Vegas, you know—
push the people in, crowd ’em in. They have
some real bad shows up there. By that I mean
not necessarily dirty, but maybe real noisy and
late starting and things like that—you know,
just kind of a sloppy operation. And they’re
that way in Vegas, which most people are,
most operators. But generally the operators
in northern Nevada are far superior to the
operators in southern Nevada. Southern
Nevada is just take the money and run, you
know. Not so much crooked; I don’t think
there’s much crookedness any more—just, the
heck with the people, you know.

MGM has imported a little of that, Of
course, they opened too early, but from what
we’ve seen, they have that philosophy of just
get the people in, get their money, get ’em out,
get some more people. Not repeat business,
just bring in another bus load, another plane
load and, you know, get their money and get
’em out, and another, another, which is kind of
the Vegas philosophy. There are some places
in Vegas that go for repeat business, but most
of ’em are just conventions and, you know, a
bunch of tourists, and give ’em what you gotta
give em and get ’em out.

We hear that just all the time, from many
of our customers (this is over ten, fifteen years,
well, twenty years we’ve had the South Shore
Room) —you know, and we’ve gone out of
our way to treat ’em nice. And they enjoy it,
and they come up quite often, and then after
several years they’ll go to Vegas, you know.
And they’ll come back just horrified that
their reservation wasn’t honored the way it

should be, and they got a terrible table, and the
waiter was rude, and the room was noisy, and
the food was lousy, and the star maybe was
very, very dirty; and they just—shocked that
they’re those kind of places. And you know,
not all places are bad in Vegas; there are some
not too bad. But there’s a philosophy that—
well, it’s not only Vegas; it’s, oh, worldwide,
I guess. And some countries are better than
others, and some cities, like New York is just
terrible; it’s about the worst there is—courtesy.
And like London, there’s a lot of courtesy in
London, and not so good in Paris; Italy’s pretty
good. People knock Italy, but I have good luck
in Rome. So there’s a national philosophy, and
then a city philosophy, like New York is just as
I said—terrible. The smaller cities [are] much
friendlier, you know. We went cross-country
in ’76 in our cars, and we stopped in all these
little towns, you know, and it was just the
way it used to be, you know—backbone of
America. And you’d walk in, “Oh, hello! Hi,
how are ya?” you know, “Howya doin’?” and,
you know, “Whatcha gonna have?” and just,
you know, friendly. And not acting, just, glad
to see ya. A lot of people like that.

So maybe that’s part of Vegas’s problem,
is they’re so big. I don’t know. I’m not gonna
worry about it [chuckles].

Where do we go from there?

You had a rather sophisticated business
organization before you went public. Would
you like to describe how that came into being,
and then give some descriptions, character
sketches of some of the managers through those
years?

Yeah, we grew just as businesses that start
with six employees that get to thousands,
grow; they just get more, and you get the place
next door and all that sort of thing. But the
management end of it—we didn’t grow that

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William F. Harrah

way; we still tried to operate the old way, and
we knew we were spinnin’ our wheels. It was
real bad. It was Bob Ring and I were runnin’
it, and of course, Rome Andreotti was here
then, and so on. But Bob and I were the guys.
And we knew we weren’t doin’ it right. And I
think I read about the George May Company
that—they were called “business engineers,”
and I think I read about ’em in Time magazine
or something, and that they could come in
and look at your business and tell ya, you
know, Gee, you’re doin’ it that way; it should
be this way, and so on.

So we got in touch with them, and, they
came in, and they really turned us around.
I mean just—we were doin’ so many things
it’s unbelievable, just like a bunch of little
kids, you know. It’s just what it evolved, just
hit and miss, you know. And our chain of
command and our management chart and
all that was just—we were just terrible. It was
amazing how well we were doing with our
organizational setup. And I was handling
many details I shouldn’t’ve been handling;
Bob was, you know—that should’ve been five
levels below us; but we’d always done it, so we
were still doing it. So we were working ten,
twelve hours a day and just workin’ as hard as
we could and still the things were piling up,
you know. “What’s wrong here?” You know,
somethin’ wrong.

So they were excellent, except as those
engineering firms are (all I’ve ever run
into)—except this was a real gyppo outfit
or something, in that they wouldn’t get out;
that was their policy. And they’d come in,
and they’d say, “Well, this survey’s gonna take
maybe six or eight weeks or four weeks, six
weeks.” And it was so much a week—it was
expensive— like a thousand dollars or five
hundred dollars or well, maybe a thousand,
or maybe more. But then their six weeks went
by and nothin’ happened, and, “Oh, now we’re

into this. Gee, we gotta study this on the food
department,” or the so-and-so department.

And so bein’ polite, and it’s new to Bob
and I—’’Okay, tine.”

Sol think they went along at least twenty
weeks. And instead of five thousand dollars
it was thirty thousand dollars. And they’re
still—and there’s more and more of ’em all
the time, and the bill went up and up, and—.
And actually their policy was just to come in
and keep things—and there were plenty of
things to find, no question about that. But
they’d still be here if we hadn’t kicked ’em out.
It was their policy, and so finally it was—I hate
to do that (or I don’t any more; I’m tougher
now), but then I hated to be impolite. Finally
I went (yelling), “Goddammit Get outa here,
you guys! Give me a bill and get out! Go down!
Get in the elevator, wherever; get out!” And I
just—it’s the only way they would move, and
so it was good and bad. And they did us a lot
of good, but they left a bad taste.

So a few years went by and we wouldn’t
even have anything to do with those. And then
I read another article, where there were some
very good ones. McKenzie in New York—.
So I tried to get them, and they were kinda
snooty then. We’ve since used them several
times. We were a gambling casino, and they’d
never handled a gambling casino, and they
were kinda—. So they didn’t do us, but we
got some other outfits, and I can’t remember
their names. Then periodically, maybe every
couple of years, we’d get ’em in for a few—and
we’d lay it out at first—it’s so many weeks, so
much money—and we had good success. And
some were better in one field than the others,
so we must’ve had four or five or six or eight
of ’em. And we still use ’em, various kinds.
And they were fine.

We’ve learned to every two, three, four
years to come in and take a look. And gee,
this was good four years ago, but now we’re

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109

so much larger and this and that, and the
fellow that handled that department was no
longer here and so on. But anyway, they’re
super, and that’s why we are as efficient as we
are; we get credit for being very efficient and
our accounting system and all that, which,
of course, is our doing, but the incentive
came from these concerns, these business
specialists, I guess you’d call ’em. They’re just
super. I recommend them to a person with
twenty employees. Just things, you know—
you do it this way and you do it—well, that
isn’t the way you should do it. And then when
they showya, you think, “Oh!” [snaps fingers],
you know [chuckling], “course, that’s the way
you should do it. This is dumb.” So they’re just
wonderful.

Primarily, we have our procedures, and
then the rest of it has just been as business
opportunities arise, why I’m very proud of
jumpin’ into ’em. Like when we went to the
Lake, why, that deal was made in a week, I
think. And we’ve made other deals. I’ve always
thought, you know, expansion-wise, and I’m
always puzzled (I really am today, too) at
people, like they’ll work for years and they
save some money, and then they get into a
cleaning business or a restaurant business or
a car business, whatever. And they work real
hard, and they have a partner or they don’t
have a partner. And most businesses fail, but
some are successful. So they’re successful, and
they’re doin’ fine. They’re makin’ money, so
they get their bills paid, and they’re still makin’
money, and they get a nice house to live in and
nice car to drive and so on—you know, they
do that, but then that’s it. And they still run
their hamburger stand, or they’re still—and
they go play golf, and they work hard, but
they run it (when they get the wrinkles out of
their belly, as they say) like they were workin’
for somebody else. Well, example I’ll give
you is—can’t remember his name—nice guy,

too—president of the chamber of commerce,
a good citizen. You probably know him. He
owned the Jeep agency before we got it, and
his father started it. Remember they are on
West Fourth Street there?

And he built the new facility out here that
we have now. And I thought, “Wow! Look at
that! Isn’t that wonderful?” But I kept in touch;
I drove Jeeps and all, and they had this little
lousy facility on West Fourth there. It was way
too little, and it wasn’t right, and they closed
on Sunday, which was dumb, and he was
never there on Saturday or Sunday; he went
hunting, and just—whoever was runnin’ the
place. And it was just terrible, and I couldn’t
believe it.

So then they went out here and built the
new one; I thought, “Oh, hooray!” ’cause
I kinda liked the guy. “Hooray, he’s gettin’
his—” you know, “he’s gonna start workin’,”
’cause his father—and his father died or got
out of it, and he was the heir apparent. He
wasn’t runnin’ it good, but he built a beautiful
thing out there.

Well then we learned it was for sale, and I
couldn’t believe it. So we got in and we bought
it. And come to find out that the Jeep people
had insisted that he do it—he had this lousy
facility, and Reno growin’—and said, “If you’re
gonna keep the line, you gotta build a better
agency,” which car companies will do, and
quite properly.

And so he’d been forced to build it against
his will, and then he had to work—he got in
it; it was very expensive. So to come out on it,
hell’s] gonna have to work seven days a week,
and he didn’t want to work seven days; he
wanted [to] just work three or four days and
go fishin’ and huntin’. And I just can’t believe
it—. And we got it at a very bargain price, just
’cause he was strung out and lazy, is the word.
I’m always amazed at that, and there’s a lot of
people do that. Well, a lot of people are lazy,

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William F. Harrah

plus they don’t have vision— of course, there’s
no reason. If you do have a real nice clothing
store and you’re doin’ fine and your family’s
happy, why, who am I to say you should have
twelve of ’em, but I don’t think that way I’m
always interested in who’s next door [laughs]
and who owns the property! We’ve done
that—I don’t know if you’ve heard about it,
or I’ve probably told you about Ketchum and
Stanley, Idaho, and same thing. And we buy
this place, and then we look at the guy next
door.

And more often than you think, things
kinda fall into place, and it’s not all luck
either. It’s just lookin’, and usually there’s—not
usually—quite often or many times, there’ll
be a little Achilles heel there somewhere. The
place looks pretty good, but the partners are
fighting, or the husband and wife are fighting,
or maybe they’re overextended, or maybe
there’s a health problem, or—you know, there’s
a lot of opportunity if you really look. We’ve
just done super in Ketchum, and we’re—
haven’t any money yet, but we’re sure gettin’
the right spots. We have a whole block there
now. And we just started with one little store,
and just click, click, click. And, of course, Bob
Hudgens handles that, and we have fun doin’
it. It’s almost like playin’ Monopoly. It’s what
we did here in Reno, only it’s much tinier scale
there because there’s no casinos.

So getting back to a business philosophy—
that’s what it is. And of course, people say,
“Well, how do you do all this?” And really
the bigger you are, it’s so much easier. There’s
a department—advertising, Mark Curtis; and
the employees, Rome Andreotti; and future
building, Bob Martin, and—. In the old days,
why, gee whiz, you know, employees, that’s
me; and building, that’s me; and licensing,
that’s me; and the number of crew that come
to work, that’s me and Bob. You know, you
had to do so much yourself, and you really

weren’t capable at much of it. But now Mark’s
an expert on advertising, and Bob Martin’s an
expert on planning and hiring the contractors
and all that, so it’s a department. I just say
[gesture, handing over], “Hey,” which is
one thing about being successful, and many
people can’t do that, is delegation, and I’ve
always been real good at that. I’m proud of
that— is delegate. And there’s a saying on
that that’s very fitting; I think it’s “Organize,
deputize, and supervise.” But the “supervise”
isn’t exactly right; there’s a better word for
that. “Organize and deputize”—let ’em run
it. But keep a little—. Like we have our daily
report; that’s how we keep in touch. Don’t
just give to them and then come back a year
later and discover that it’s this, that, and the
other; you have to kinda—like a child—look
over their shoulder just to be sure. But don’t
lead their hand or anything; let ’em do it. The
more they do, the better, and it’s better for
them, they’re happier, and they’re stronger.
But still you just can’t—until a person’s been
forever, and then—well, even so, like Rome,
he has his strong points and he has his weak
points, and which we all know—he knows
it, too. He’ll get a little this and that, and on
some things, and you say, “Hey, Rome, get of
f of that!” you know, “Get on the big picture.”

[Chuckles] Rome is a workaholic. Rome’s
desk looks like this [heaped up]—don’t ever
pass anything on it you can do it yourself, is
his philosophy! And [laughing] we work on
him and work on him! He has plenty of people
under him, you know, but he just—that’s the
way he is. I don’t do that any more; that’s
Lloyd’s job. But he really has to get on Rome
once or twice a year. I mean Rome really
works extremely hard, and he’s very, sensitive,
so you can’t—’’Goddammit, Rome! Quit—.”
You gotta say, “Now, Rome, don’t you—?”
’cause he’ll get real—”Oh, everybody’s mad
at me.” He is a wonderful guy.

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Rome Andreotti worked next door at the
Frontier Club (that was Pick and Joe Hobson’s
place) as a check racker and then a wheel
dealer, and he was a super wheel dealer. And
we got acquainted, and he came over in ’48.
I don’t remember who hired him—might’ve
been [Warren Nelson].

Yeah, I think Warren might’ve hired Rome.
But Rome didn’t really—no education, but he
was just a super wheel dealer and got along
fine with the public, and was very interested
in all the games, and is today. I guess he’s our
foremost gaming authority. [If] somebody
wants to talk about the odds on the Roulette
wheel or the Crap game or “21,” why, we’ll
call Rome. Your card counters, all that sort of
thing—that’s Rome Andreotti’s department.
And he knows all the answers— everything
but slots, and that’s Bud Garaventa. So it’s so
easy. And then Rome and Bud work together
on the number of machines and so on.

But it’s really very easy nowadays. But,
course, we have good locations (that’s very
important), and then we’re very competitive
minded. Like MGM came to town, that was
a whole new ball game. Every competitor
changes things; that’s the big change in
Reno, of course, and we didn’t know what to
expect. Well, we kind of had ideas what would
happen, but—. We check them like we do; you
know, up at the Lake we know how many “21 ”
players Harvey has at ten in the morning, and
down here we know how many players MGM
has at ten in the morning.

It’s very important; it’s important to know
how your competitors are doing. And you
know how you’re doing, what’s the difference,
you know? And then occasionally, “Oh-ho!
They’re gettin a lot of ’21’ play, and ours is
down a little. What’s goin’—what’s wrong
here?” you know. “Find out real fast.” And then
you can find out. And it’s usually either— well,
they’re doin’ somethin’ the players like or—.

It’s one thing that Harolds Club had that
was very, very good, and we never did it, and
I don’t think we ever would. But I the old days
of the Smith family, they were very lenient,
and they didn’t have all the controls we have,
and they lost a lot of money. But they had a
lot of people in there; it was the place to go,
and it was just full of people. Pappy Smith,
he said things, but one thing he said, he said,
“Yeah, we don’t really watch—have all the
lookouts and have all the people, you know.”
He said, “We have to win the money twice,”
which meant they’re beat, and then they’d
get cheated, and the employees’d steal, and
the players’d steal, but still the volume was
so huge—and a lot of people were gettn the
best of it, and like some of the games—not
necessarily cheating, but the dealer’d make a
mistake, and there was nobody to correct it,
so they’d, you know, get a little extra. And of
course, they’d lose it in the long run, which he
meant by having to win it twice. And at that
time it was very successful. But that wasn’t
our kind of an operation; it was just sloppy.
It was very successful, but it was sloppy. And,
we prefer a little tidier thing, and (you know)
you win the bet, you get paid, and you lose the
bet, we get it, and that sort of thing. And you
can get a big volume; we have a big volume.

But Pappy and Harold had some good—
Harold gets criticized a lot, but he wasn’t too
bad. Pappy was the overall brains of the thing,
but Harold was real good, and down on the
floor and sayin hello to people and shakin
hands and buyin drinks, you know—in his
day, before he got goofy. But he was a good
operator.

course, Raymond I., he was kinda fun. I
told you about him, I think? Yeah. He was a
real weirdo, really—so many ways. Didn’t take
him long to get goin on somethin’. And I’m
that way, too, like—it looks like a good idea,
let’s get goin! Let’s call somebody today and

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William F. Harrah

start diggin the hole tomorrow, and that sort
of thing, you know—which I really can’t do
any more, and it’s really not too good, but—.
But he did a lot of that, and many cases it
didn’t work very good, but many cases it did.
He didn’t believe in holdin’ back too much.

course, you couldn’t—he had his own
thinking, and I never argued with him or
anything. He was a lot bigger guy than I was,
and I went along with him always, but I sure
didn’t agree with a lot of his philosophy.

Tell me about some of the other people that you
had in the organization before it went public,
before ’71—what they were doing and what
they were contributing to the organization.

Then how much did I cover on Bob
Ring? Well, Bob Ring was president, I
believe after—I was president for quite a
while; then I believe Bob Ring was president.
And Bob Ring did. a tine job, but he’d been
with me so long he was really my alter ego.
So Bob was just a carbon copy of me, which
I liked and he liked. But the policies were
exactly the same, and the follow-through—
everything was almost identical—Bob Ring
or me. Bob was president for a short time,
but I’m glad he was president; he deserved
it.

And Gene Diullo (I’m not sure I’m sayin’
it right) was a Keno man, came with us when
we opened. I think he might’ve left us for a
short time. Opened a bar over on Sierra. In
the old—what’s the old hotel over there?

Canton, in the Canton Hotel. I believe they
had a bar in there. He and some other people
took Jackson over there, which irritated me a
little bit. But they were kind of a phony bunch,
which Gene caught onto right away, and came
right back. He was only over there a week or
so. He’s been with us ever since, an excellent
Keno man.

As the company’s grown, why, he’s grown
right along with Keno. Where we used to have
one, why, we now have gosh knows how many
Keno games.

Okay. Well, there was Red Farnsworth.
He was quite a guy. He was the only—see,
Bob Ring and. I are about the same age, and
Rome’s a little younger. But Red Farnsworth
was ten or fifteen years older than any of
us. I think he came out of New York, and
I forget how we got ahold of him. But he
was extremely hard worker, and he had
no education, but he understood people.
And I think he’d been a carnival man or
something. But he was really our first
industrial relations, only we didn’t even call
it that, then. But any labor problems we had,
Red handled ’em. And he was kinda hit or
miss, but he was such a hard worker—and
he was pretty smart—that he’d just work ’em
out. He got—which was very important—he
got the confidence of the employees. I think
he had the Joe Average employee—I think
they had more confidence in Red than me or
Bob Ring or anybody. They would just—he
was the guy. So you have a problem in some
department, and Red Farnsworth’d walk
in, and it would just—just his walking in
would— ’cause everyone knew he was very
fair. And if you’re an employee and you’d
been pushed around a little by a supervisor
or somethin’ (which can happen; that was
before we had the board of review), Red
would find out about it, and boy, he’d stand
up for you against anybody. And if you were
wrong, why he’d do that—and he was very
thorough. He wasn’t superficial. He’d go in
and really get to the bottom; that’s a failing
I have and lots of people do. But you go in,
and here’s this, so and so happened, and such
and such. Okay, so and so happened, such
and such—this the way it is. Well, maybe it
did, maybe it didn’t. And he would dig in

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and dig in, and if it was true, that’s the way
it was; and if it wasn’t true, he would follow
it up.

And then he also—another good point
he had was he wasn’t afraid to act. He wasn’t
always doin’ where you thought, “Oh,
Goddamn, look what Red did again!” But if
there was a problem— he’s up at the Lake and
there was a problem, and he figured it out;
then he would act. And he’d fire somebody,
or he’d do somethin’ and—you know, instead
of say[ing], “Oh, hey, we got a problem here,”
you know. And then so many people’ll do
that, and say, “Well, so and—well, he should
be fired.”

Then you say, “Okay, fire him.”

Then they say, “Oh, Bill told me to fire
you,” you know, that sort of thing, where
they—they’re chicken.

Okay, Red and Bud Garaventa I mentioned,
and Rome, and (who else), Bob Martin.

Yeah, he started with us. He was goin’ to
the University; he was a football player from
somewhere. I think that’s when we had the
football drive. Remember when they recruited
a little bit here and there? And he came out of
somewhere and went to the University, and
he looked like a football player— kind of a
dumbbell, which he really isn’t, but he looked
it, you know, and kind of zero personality,
which isn’t much better now, but—no, that
isn’t fair; he’s okay.

But I remember he worked, and we were
building the casino, our first casino, and he’s
goin’ to school; and he was a night watchman
because he needed some money. We didn’t
want somebody to come in—they worked days,
you know, and the place was open; we didn’t
want any wise guys cornin’ and wreckin’ it. So
we had Bob as a night watchman. And then we
got open, and he, bein’ a husky guy, became a
bouncer. He’s been with us ever since. See, that
opened in ’46, ’66—twenty some years. And

he continued working; he continued with the
University, but he continued working. He’s
been with us ever since, and he’s done many
things and finally got into construction. And
I don’t know what his title is. Should I get an
organizational chart?

Okay. Well, let me start at the top. There’s
me and Bob Hudgens, who you know is my
assistant. And Bob Ring is the vice chairman;
I’m the chairman. And Bob’s [Ring] duties
aren’t too much any more. He handles our golf
tournaments and so on. And Lloyd Dyer’s the
president, which I’ll get into him later.

And then reporting to him is George
Drews, who’s an executive vice president of
finance and administration. And he’s only
been with us a few years. And he went to
school in the East; I think he was raised in the
East. We looked for someone on finances and
so on; we were very weak in that department.
There was nothin’—we did bring people up
through the ranks, but we didn’t have anybody
in the ranks that had that, so we brought him
in. And he’s been fine; he knows the money
markets and the banks and interest rate and
all that sort of thing.

And Holmes Hendricksen is our executive
vice president of entertainment. He started
with us at Lake Tahoe years ago as just summer
help. And he was going to the university in
Utah, I think the University of Utah. And
his fraternity’s the same as mine, Phi Delta
Theta. And we’ve always gotten along; he’s a
very capable fella. And he was here and there,
and we had various entertainment directors
and problems with ’em, and— not major,
but they were problems. And we felt that an
entertainment director had to be an ex-show-
business personality, which wasn’t true. And
then when Sheppard (who I’ll get into later) —
when he was president, one excellent thing he
did was make Holmes Hendricksen director
of entertainment. And when he proposed it, I

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William F. Harrah

said, “Well, gee, Holmes don’t know any more
about entertainment than you do, and I don’t
know much except what I’ve—experience has
brought out. Holmes—” you know

And he said, “But Holmes is good at
anything,” which he was. So we put him in
there, and he’s by far the best entertainment
director in the business. And, you know,
you don’t have to be able to play a piano or
anything to be that—important thing is to
hire the stars that bring in the customers
and to keep the stars happy, so they come
back and still at an amount of money we can
afford.

A good example of that or an excellent
example of that is Frank Sinatra, who is a
tremendous draw. And he’s temperamental;
if things aren’t exactly right, why, you’ve got
problems. And of course, we really try to keep
things right, but sometimes just something
unforeseen, not our fault, will come up. And
Holmes—course Holmes being a bachelor
doesn’t hurt any because his time’s entirely
his, you know. Well, like Frank took a bunch
of people to Europe—to Israel to dedicate a
hospital there that he built for several million
dollars. And when they dedicated it and
Frank—and Verna and I were invited, but
we were in Australia—but they chartered
a Lockheed 1011 or whatever it is, and
three hundred people all went to Israel, and
dedicated this thing. And Holmes was right
in the middle of that and just did a super job
on the thing. So he’s fine.

And then under Holmes is Mark Curtis,
who I mentioned earlier, and then a Doug
Bushousen, who does the entertainment end
that Holmes does. Between the two of’em they
make a great pair.

Then another one on a direct line from
Lloyd, the president, is Charles Lranklin,
who’s our general counsel and secretary.
And for years we had a lawyer or attorney

firm, and it went way back with—which I’ll
go into that some, a little later. But we had
Mead Dixon for many years and his firm, and
then another thing Shep suggested was an
in-house lawyer. And at first it surprised me
because we—Mead called me, called him at
his office, so and so. But when you get pretty
good size, there’re so many legal things that
are just every day, just hundreds a day; it’s
hard to believe. And so many of ’em are so
unimportant, just anybody can do it. And so
Charles is just wonderful at that and kept the
ton of paperwork away from goin’ down the
street to Mead’s office; it’s just done right here.
So that was a wonderful thing, and he’s—I
was a. little surprised—he’s very capable,
and he’s still in his thirties, I think, when he
came with us. And I thought, “Well, gee that’s
strange—a guy in his thirties would want to
go, and he’s on salary here. If I was a lawyer,
I’d want my own firm, and oh boy,” you know.
But of course there’s two ways of lookin’ at
everything. And he’s real happy here, and of
course he’s paid well. And he doesn’t really
have to worry about clients; he has one, and
that’s us. In fact his department’s grown; he
now has an assistant. We have two in-house
lawyers, plus Mead’s firm. I don’t know
how many people Mead has, but he must
have—oh, he has several other top—besides
the secretaries—three or four lawyers there.
And I’d say fifty percent of their practice is
Harrah’s.

Mark Curtis is under Holmes and Doug—.
Then under Rome, who I mentioned earlier—
he’s operations, which is the important thing.
And he has Mert Smith in Reno and—well,
go into that. Mert’s been with us many years.
I’m kinda happy I picked him. We had another
manager, didn’t work out, and Mert was—I
forget what he was doing. But what he did
he did real good. And so they asked, “Who
should we send—?”

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115

And I—”How about Mert?” And we tried
him, and he’s been [at] that job for ten years.

And Bud Garaventa’s under Mert. He’s
our slot guy I mentioned earlier, but he’s also
gaming; we promoted him, got him out of the
slots. He has a large department to handle the
slots, which he supervises, but also in the “21”
games and the Roulette wheels—he’s in charge
of that, too.

Then there’s a Bob Contois, who’s been
with us many years, is assistant general
manager under Mert. And Jim Calhoun, who’s
also an assistant general manager—. When
you have a twenty-four-hour business, you
really need a general manager and assistant,
plus your shift bosses; so it’s a very good setup.

Then on our industrial relations, which is
under Rome— that is Joe Specht, who’s just
excellent. Joe’s been with us I guess fifteen
years; he doesn’t look that old. But we, as you
know, have no unions except our musicians.
It wasn’t always that way. We had to have
waitresses and so on; we had an election and
got decertified, and Joe did that; I’m kinda
proud of that. I know how pleased Joe was
when we were workin on the election (I don’t
know if we’ve won it yet), but he never bothers
me at all; he always goes through channels.
But he wanted to see me—surprised me,
kinda scared me; I thought he was gonna quit
or something. And so he came in—I always
see anybody like that wants to see me, try to
get a lead first to what it’s about. But he came
in and he said, “I just wanted to tell you how
happy I am to work here because it’s—most
employers would, ‘Oh, so what? Why bother
with that? So the union guys are around a
little bit—so what? Forget it,’ you know.” He
said, “You really stuck your neck out.” And
we were picketed for a while, and some of our
friends wouldn’t come in. It was some work,
but it was our principle, and we believed in it
and it worked out.

And Joe Fanelli’s vice president of food
and beverage. And for years we had a terrible
time with our food, and we’d try this food—
we knew nothing about it. And we’d try this
fella, and he really wasn’t any good, and a
lot of ’em are phony, and we just changed,
changed, changed. All departments, we’d have
a fella there fifteen years and twenty years
and twelve years; get to “food,” and he’d been
there six months, and here’d come another
one and another one and another one, and
they were either incapable—of course, there
was a shortage of good food managers. But
they really are incapable, or else someone’d
come and steal ’em. And we’d pay; you know,
we kept raisin’ the money, raisin’ the money,
and had a terrible time.

And, I go to the Mayo Clinic every year for
a checkup; all the people do now here, all top
management. That’s in Rochester, Minnesota,
and right next to it is the Kahler Hotel. And
they’ve both been there so long, and they’re
friendly (although they’re not owned by the
same—). But there is a tunnel from the hotel
to the clinic, and of course, the winters are
very severe back there. But you go back and
you check into the Kahler Hotel, and there’s
one other hotel they own, also connects; but
the Kahler’s the one. So you have a nice room,
and they have restaurants there and the bars
and newsstand, everything you want in a
hotel.

And then you go down in the lower level,
and there’s a tunnel to the clinic. And it’s very
handy, and it’s the way you do it. And you’re
and you have an eight o’clock appointment; it
takes about five minutes. And like we always
have the same suite now; it’s on the eleventh
floor of the Kahler. So we go up—sssss down
to the lower level and then walk through the
tunnel and into the lower level of the Mayo
building. And so my appointment’s on the

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William F. Harrah

sixteenth floor, and I take the elevator and go
up to the sixteenth floor and go in there, and
here I am, and just ta-ta-ta-ta. So it can be
twenty-five below zero, and it’s no problem,
so it’s just wonderful.

The Kahler, they have a coffee shop. And
that’s just the one hotel; there’s another hotel,
too, which I’m just talkin’ about the Kahler.
And they have a coffee shop, and they have a
restaurant on top; they’ve changed the name
several times, so it’s uh, something-room
[Pinnacle]. It’s pretty nice. And then on the
main floor again, coffee shop, and then there’s
the Elizabethan Room; that’s a nice dining
room. And then they have another room that’s
kind of a combination bar and buffet. And
they have another room; it’s kind of a very
light lunch sort of a thing. There’s a tunnel to
all this; they’re all connected.

But anyway, plus the room service, it
was quite a large operation. Plus the other
hotel—it’s a smaller hotel, but there’s a
restaurant there and I think a dining room
and maybe a snack bar. So it was pretty big.
Well, anyway, Joe Fanelli was the man that
ran it. And he’s a real friendly fella, so we got
acquainted with him back there. And he was
just doin’ a wonderful job there, and the food
was good, and they didn’t have any casino,
so they had to watch, you know, their prices.
And a lot of people go to the clinic don’t
have too much money, so their prices had to
be very competitive. But the waitresses were
always friendly and chipper and remembered
you from last year, and their uniforms were
always starched real pretty. It was just a good
operation. So we got acquainted, and we were
lookin’, and I remember Rome and I were real
active in that. Finally we said, “Well, let’s steal
Joe Fanelli.” So we knew him first-name basis
then, and he’d been there twenty-one years, I
think, which—and it isn’t easy. And he’d been
raised and raised.

So we made him—and we really did it
right—made him an offer that was financially
superior to what he was getting, but it wasn’t
an awful lot more. And we brought him
out and had him look around—he and his
wife, who is a real neat gal, and they’re to be
admired. They never had any children; they
adopted five, and all five were handicapped.
They wouldn’t adopt anybody that wasn’t
handicapped. And they raised them; they have
a house of ours that we rent ’em, out here on
South Virginia, right near my property. In
fact, I own it now, And I think maybe one
or two of the kids are gone, but three of ’em
are still home and they’re handicapped. But
they’re just wonderful, and they—raisin’ that
family.

But anyway, Joe came with us, and since
then it’s just been wonderful. I mean our
food—it’s, of course, always a problem, and
we’re much larger now, you know. And we
have all our restaurants and the South Shore
Room and the Headliner Room, and those are
very important because we want good food
in there. And still there’s that terrible time
limit, you know. If you come in eight o’clock
for dinner in the steak house and we’re a little
rushed, you know, well, we may not seat you
till eight-ten; then you may not be finished
till nine-thirty or ten. But we’re doin’ the best
we can; there’s no big thing. But in the South
Shore Room and the Headliner Room, most
people don’t get there till seven, and the show
starts at eight-fifteen. And by eight-fifteen we
want the waiters out of the room. We don’t
want people clatterin’ plates while the star is
on. We’re one of the few companies that do
that. So there’s an hour and fifteen they have
to serve, you know, to get the order and get
it in and get it out; and still it has to be pretty
good, so that really takes some doing. And of
course, Joe handles that, plus all his people.
We’re real proud of that, that our food is

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117

generally pretty good in the rooms, and we
get a lot of compliments, you know. Well,
this is a gourmet-type dinner almost, and
in an hour-fifteen, and all those people. Can
you imagine at the Lake we’ll have up to eight
hundred people there for dinner, and most of
em’ll arrive at one time and they’re go, go, go.
Of course, a lot of that’s our doing, but also
Joe’s done that.

Then there’s Joe Francis at the Lake,
who’s our general manager there, who s very
capable. He’s been there many years.

Another fella down here with a direct
line to Lloyd is Shep Sheppard, who I’m sure
you know. He was I think born and raised in
Reno. And he’s been with us some twenty-five
years. He was an accountant for many years.
And then he was very active in turning the
company around, too; I’ll give him credit for
that, ’cause I was president for many years, and
then Bob Ring was president. And in spite of
these engineering firms, we were kinda doin’ it
the same old way. And I’ll never forget— and
Shep’s a very timid person; he’s very—what’s
the word for introvert?—only the supreme
introvert, just scared of his shadow. And he’s a
great thinker but just very timid. So he told me
he wanted to see me, and I just couldn’t believe
it—Shep wanted to come in. You know, it was
always get him, and he’d come in [head down],
“Whadda you want?” And [he] wanted to see
me. And as I came in, I could see he was very
nervous. And I thought, gee, he’s gonna quit.
And he sat down and kinda got calmed down.
And I said, “What is it? What—?”

And he said, “Well, I’d like to talk to you
about the U company.

And I said, “What about—?” And we were
makin’ a million or so a year.

And he said, “Well, we’re spinnin’ our
wheels.” And between Bob and I—and Bob
really wasn’t very good because he’d always
been so associated with me, and I’d been

successful, that instead of thinkin’ how to do
it, Bob Ring, he would think, “How would
Bill do it?” And so he was just copyin’ me.
And so I was strong in some things and
weak in others; so he didn’t help me at all,
in other words. And we were strong in this
department, but I’m weak here so Bob Ring
is also weak there ’cause he just kinda copied
me. So Shep pointed out many places where
we were really weak, and I really knew it.

And I said, “Well, what do we do about
it?” I said, “I’m happy with my life-style. I
work hard, but I like my cars, and I like to go
to Idaho; I don’t want to do any more.” You
know, “What can we do?”

And he says, “Let me be president for a
year or so.” And he says, “I’ll surprise you.”
And that took a lot of guts, you know, to say,
“Make me president.”

And he sounded so good, I said, “Well,
hey, maybe that’s a good idea.” So I went to
Bob Ring, and I said, “What do you think?”
And I didn’t want to hurt Bob; that’s the last
thing I’d ever want to do.

And Bob’s always fine, you know; he said,
“Gee, I’m—” he said, “I don’t really like this
job, president, anyway ’cause people ask me
somethin’, and,” he said, “I don’t know,” he
said, “I always want to ask you.” And he said,
“Fine, let’s try it.” So we put him in, and he was
super. In many ways he had his faults. But he
was super in reorganizing the company and
getting rid of some deadheads; we had some
deadwood—and really hopped it up. And he
had wife problems and emotional problems.
They were no problem when he was just the
vice president in charge of this and that. But
when he got to be president, then the wife
problems and the other problems— then they
got to be very important. And the pressure was
on him, and there was some serious problems,
so we had to remove mm. And that’s a real
scary thing because he’s a real valuable man,

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William F. Harrah

and when anyone gets to the, say at the so-
called top and, then gets demoted, why, ninety
percent can’t stand it, you know; they have to
go to Harveys or somewhere, just no way can
they stand it emotionally

And Shep took it very well. And he knew
that he was in trouble, and the company was
in trouble. He was so good in political affairs,
community affairs and real estate; he was
excellent in that. And he’s very courteous, very
patient. And like we do have John Giannotti
(I mentioned earlier)— political—but Shep
is over John in that. And the legislature’s in
session, why, Shep’s over there, and he knows
’em all and they trust him. And in real estate
he—cept he didn’t get the Santa Fe—goofed
[laughter]! That’s driving him up the wall, too!

Okay. Bob Martin, I mentioned. Don
Stevens is under George Drews, is the treasurer
who’s capable. And Chuck Munson—I’m
sure you know Chuck. He’s under Shep; he’s
excellent in community affairs. And John
Giannotti at the Lake, he’s a super guys He’s our
community affairs at the Lake. Hut everybody
at the Lake and you—California and all this,
and the bla bla bla. And California—he really
is tryin’ to pull some stuff up there, but the
people that John has to deal with all respect
him and, you know, trust him.

Then we have another one, Lowell
Hendricksen, who’s Holmes Hendricksen’s
brother, another Phi Delt. And he was at
the Lake for years, and very capable. And
then HAC has been put in with our aviation
department and our Middle Fork Lodge,
which sounds kinda odd. But they fit very well
because HAC is mechanical, and they’re out
of the downtown area; and our airport—we
have a hangar at the airport where we keep
our planes, and it’s outside also. And then the
Middle Fork Lodge is also—that’s serviced by
planes, and that’s out of the same jurisdiction,
so it works real good. So Lowell’s only been

out there about a year, but he’s doin’ a fine job.
It’s entirely new to him, as he was assistant
manager at the Lake. But he likes cars, and
he likes—well, he likes business. So he’s doin’
a super job.

Then under him is Ralph Bartholf, who’s
our chief pilot, who’s just excellent. I’ve known
him for years. In fact I used to, before we even
had a plane. And occasionally I’d charter a
plane, very seldom, but occasionally you have
to. I always drove to Idaho, but if I was late,
occasionally I’d fly and I’d hire Ralph to fly
me and go to maybe a car meet or two. We’ve
been friends for years. And he went to work
for us as a pilot years ago, and he’s been our
chief pilot for ten years, I guess.

Another one under Lowell is Clyde Wade;
that’s Cindy’s [secretary] husband. And
he’s the general manager of the museum out
there. He’s very capable. He came up the hard
way (he and Cindy both did), and he was a
truck driver out there for several years. And
then he did pretty good, and so he got into
this and that, and he’s been our manager
out there for some time. And he knows—is
a good mechanic. And like, well, we go on
the Brighton Run every year now—have for
years—and prior to the program Clyde’ll
be there to see that it runs right. And so
whenever it’s important, why, he’s around in
the car end—very good.

And then two people I didn’t mention
under Charles Franklin, our general counsel
(and he’s also the secretary of the company), is
Doug Oien, who’s our internal auditor, which
is important, and Rex Shroder, who’s the
director of corporate security. There’s another
example, if you get the real professional—like
our security—and we had one and we had two
and we had twenty and we had forty and this
and that. And they’re, you know, usually very
good, capable men, ex-policemen, and some
young fellas cornin’ along. But there were

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problems in that department. And plenty of
capable security men that you could put on
the floor could handle it. But for someone
to put over ’em that could handle it, and the
personalities and the problems and scheduling
and so on, it was—we could never—it’s almost
like it was before we got Joe Fanelli, just
new guy, new guy, new guy, new guy. And
we finally got Rex Shroder, and he was a[n]
ox-FBI. His whole life had been police work.
And fact he—well, it’s fun sometimes, like we
go places together occasionally on the plane,
and he 11 talk about J. Edgar Hoover; he was
very close to him for years. And you know,
you’ve read about J. Edgar, and then some of
it’s true, some of it isn’t. And he just says the
way it is, and he’s a great admirer of J. Edgar.
Hoover had his faults, but I guess anyone of
us would’ve had ’em if we’d been in the same
job for forty years.

But anyway, Rex is just excellent. And he’s
very realistic, like when my boy, John, went to
school in Switzerland. So I said, “Now there’s
kidnappings over there; I’m concerned. How
’bout it?” you know, “What do you think?” So
Rex went over with me.

And we went there, and I was really
concerned. And Rex looked at this; he looked
at the school, and he looked at this and that.
And being an ex-FBI man, he knows all the
FBI men around the world, and there are
some in Europe. So he called the FBI man in
Geneva, said, “I’m Rex Shroder, former—.”

“Oh, yes. Sure, Mr. Shroder,” da da da.

And he said, “I’m now working for so-
and-so, and we have a boy here in school,”
and, “What’s the story on kidnapping in Italy
and Switzerland?” There had been none in
Switzerland up to that time, and then Italy
was—.

So he told him that he wasn’t concerned—
the FBI man over there—that they weren’t
kidnapping Americans; they were kidnapping

Italians, which is true. And then also the
chief of the district—the police are a little
different setup than we have here, but it’s
similar in ways. And like the police— it’s all
police; there’s no sheriff or anything. There
is a police—it would be our country, where
John goes to school, and there’s a policeman in
charge of that. And I think that overlaps into
the city of whatever, but—. Anyway, the FBI
told him to talk to him, and so he did. Rex was
convinced the man knew his business, and he
was unconcerned; he said, “We haven’t had a
kidnapping yet. If we do, we’re ready to move.”

And then Rex looked over the school, and
on a twenty-four-hour basis. And then he
went to the headmaster, and I introduced him.
And he says, “It looks very good to me, except
I have a recommendation.” He didn’t say, “Do
this!” He said, “I have a recommendation,” he
said, “there is a time when the last—” they had
a garden or something (it was kinda round),
and not only workin’ on the lawn, but, he was
their kind of a watchman around the property,
and then he went home at six o’clock. And
then there was someone that kinda did it, that
walked around the yard till (I guess it was a
watchman, actually)—to maybe midnight.
And then he was off. So there was nothin’
from midnight till eight o’clock. And Rex said,
“There should be someone—.”

And of course, many of the professors
sleep there, which was the answer he got. “But
we’re sleeping right here.”

And Rex says, “I understand that, but,”
he said, “and this is just a recommendation—
there should be someone patrolling the
grounds from midnight to seven in the
morning.” And I think they did that; I think
they put ’em on.

But he accomplished—you know, he just did
that, and hell, he wasn’t over there a week and
had it all, you know—and put my mind at ease.

Okay. You want some more?

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William F. Harrah

Chuck Munson, for example. He was active
in the formation and first managing of the
Industry Association.

Yeah. We knew him before; we were very
active in that, and we pushed him, and then
we stole ’em [chuckles]. Well, if I leave out any
names here, then eventually they’re gonna
read it—aren’t they gonna be hurt?

Okay. Dave Loffswold, I mentioned.
He’s assistant to Joe Specht. R. J. Lukas is
the director of food and beverage; he’s very
capable. He’s a pro; he’s under Fanelli. And
Julius Weiss is a corporate executive chef. He’s
under Joe; he’s very capable. And Joe brought
them in, of course.

Then Dan Orlich. He’s quite a guy. You
know, he was a trapshooter; he worked at
Harolds for years. And then we got to be
friends with him, very friendly. And it was a
friendship basis he came to work for us for a
similar job, about the same money. And he’s
director of special casino programs, which
in effect is our junkets. He brings people in
from—primarily our good ones now are from
Texas, Mexico, and Northwest— Washington,
Oregon. We have a lot of those during the year
on our own planes. Dan handles that and does
a super job.

And then there’s Tom Yturbide at the
Lake; he’s been there quite awhile. He came
up through the ranks. And he’s assistant
general manager under Joe Francis. And then
there’s an Ed Posey, who’s an assistant general
manager, also under Joe Francis. And Ed is
one of those fellas—there’re a lot of people
like that, and they kinda puzzle me in a way.
But on the other hand, I’m like ’em. Ed, he’s
a super guy in his job, but he’s just—and he’s
real young; he’s barely thirty. But when he gets
around me, he just doesn’t want to look at me,
and he just gets real nervous. And then people
say, “Gee, that Ed’s good.”

And I say, “Well, he acts like a nut, as far
as I’m concerned!”

They say, “Well, you make him nervous.”

I say, “What am I doing, just standin’
here?” But he just—it’s real funny.

Then Don Hill’s director of our plant
and engineering safety. That was our idea;
we put him on. That goes way back. Oh, I
mentioned that earlier that fire chief, didn’t
I, that retired?—who was a fire chief here
forever?

I think it was [Wagner] Sorenson; he was
a tall slender fella, very nice. And I’d liked him
just ’cause he did a good job as fire chief. And
so we knew each other. When he retired, he
came to see me, and I thought, “What does
he want?”

And he said, “Hey, I need a job.”

And I said, “What do you want to do?”

“Oh,” he said, “I’m—you know, I’m only
sixty-somethin’ and good—I don’t want to
retire; I want a job.”

“Fine.” And so, “What?”

And he said, “Well, I don’t know. I don’t
have any ideas.” And so we didn’t really need
a fire chief. Then we got to talkin’ about safety,
and so we hired him.

And it was amazing the number of things
he’d found just the first day, you know, where
the door and the escape was wrong, and the
light was out over there. And so we kept him
for—well, I think, until he died, I think he held
that job and just turned the company around,
as far as that was concerned.

Then we’ve had several—now it’s Don
Hill. And I just got a memo today from him
and his daily report, and he said, “I’m retiring
next month.” “Dear Bill, Bob, and Rome, I’ve
enjoyed working here,” so and so.

And we have Bob Martin, I told you about,
and under him’s Ken Archer, who’s director
of construction, which he is just super. We
build something—and course, Bob Martin’s

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121

in charge of it; Ken Archer’s the guy that’s
right down there seem’ that the beams arrive
on time and all. And he’s just absolutely—he’s
real cool. And you know, building is just
almost impossible, unless you’re really in it
like he is. But he plans ahead, and “Oh, there’s
gonna be a shortage of this; shipping is such
and such—.” And so to watch a job that he’s
doing is just fun to watch it on a daily basis
because, you know, so-and-so, and this time
for the fixtures— there they are. They came in
on the truck yesterday, you know; so-and-so
and so-and-so and here’s this, and then the
something—oh, well, we need this. Well, they
came out on the truck a month ago and put in
storage because there was a threat of a strike
back there, and we wanted to be sure and get
’em ahead of time. So it just goes just like this
[gestures weaving together], and that comes
here, and this comes here, and just zzzz, you
know. When it’s properly planned, it can be
done.

Then we have a lady, Maggie Beaumont,
who’s director of fashion and wardrobe. She’s
been with us many years. I think she was our
first—well, we had one before her. And that’s
our uniforms primarily, you know, and they’re
constantly being changed. If her style’s on,
then a uniform—a waitress uniform—may be
good for two or three years. And of course,
there’ll be many uniforms in that time for the
same girl, but then styles change and where
we want to change the looks of them, and
that’s all Maggie. And she’ll get—and she’s
excellent—(she kinda bugs me personally,
but—[chuckles]). No, she’s all right. She’s
another one that gets nervous around me.
And I say, “Well, how can you stand her?” to
the other people.

And they say, “Well, around us she’s nice,
but when she gets around you, and she gets
all (you know) —overemphasizes things,”
and you know, that, which I just hate. But

anyway, she does a good job. Well, she’s not
only style-wise, but she’s cost-conscious. And
you’ll find—and we’ve had ’em before—that,
oh boy, this is super; then they get the bill and
it’s a zillion dollars for just a waitress uniform.
But she really—and the material—it has to be
very stylish and still cost has gotta be right
down there; plus it has to be washable; it has
to be wearable, you know, so—just super.

We have a George Poore, who’s director
of materials management, which means
primarily buying. Like we bought a new
yacht for Tahoe, and George was put in
charge of that. We selected the yacht we
wanted, the manufacturer and the—. But
then it was George’s baby. He negotiated
the contract and the delivery date and all;
he’s just excellent at that. And he negotiates
rock-bottom prices; we’ve had other people
do that. That’s really a profession; they can
get things at absolutely rock bottom, and still
the seller is a friend. They’re not mad because
you knocked ’em down so far. He’s just so
realistic, and he understands their problems.
If they’re overloaded on this, he may take a
little more to help ’em out; and if this is in
short supply, he may not demand too much
immediately. He really works with them so
that—’’Well, yeah, George, with Harrah’s,
you really gotta get down there in your price,
but boy, they’re sure easy to work With,” you
know.

And when things are really in short supply,
like Alaskan crab or some darn thing, from
time to time, he’s anticipated it and way ahead,
and we’re stocked up. And he works like with
the food, of course, with Joe Fanelli, and with
the yachts with whoever it is. So he’s super.

We have a Bill Archer, director of computer
services. I don’t know anything about a
computer, and Bill Archer knows as much
about computers as there is, so about all he
and I have in common is our first names are

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William F. Harrah

the same [laughs]! We have our get-togethers,
management get-togethers, at least once or
twice a year. I try to say hello to everybody,
and Bill—you know, we like each other. I’ll
go, “Hi, Bill, how you doin’?”

“Oh, Bill, fine. How are you, Bill?”
And that’s about it! What can you talk to a
computer guy [chuckling] ?

Well, that covers the chart, I guess.

You were saying earlier that you’d had all of
these problems in the organization that led
to Maurice Sheppard’s removal or demotion.
Would you like to discuss that a little bit? I
mean just to illustrate the kinds of things that
can happen in a big successful corporation?

Well, no, it wasn’t so much the problems.
We were goin’ along fine. Nobody was
quittin’; the help were happy. But we weren’t
really expanding any. Like I said, we were
makin’ a million a year or somethin’. And I
was interested in my old cars, and I came to
work every day, and, you know, this and that.
And we had our stars, and shows changed,
and the new show and the new this and that,
and summer and winter, and so on. But that
was it. Our earnings were going up, but we
weren’t running—we were, say, running at
fifty percent of what we could’ve been, if
we’d all been really [gesture, running], you
know. And so Shep could see that, and I
knew— you know, I was—I had a little guilt
feeling, but—what the heck? I made a million
and a half last year; we’re makin’ two million
four this year. That’s not too bad, you know.
It just could’ve been, you know, a lot more
than that, so that’s what he could see and I
knew it. I knew we weren’t doin’ as good as
we could do, but I was happy. Boy, we’re doin’
fine, and—.

Then you had to remove him.

Oh, that was real sad. He has a tremendous
inner thing, and it doesn’t come out. Instead
of saying, “God damn it!” he will—it’ll fester.
And oh, it’s unbelievable for a man in his
position, but maybe he would see him on the
street, like maybe Bob Hudgens or someone,
and maybe not see him, or maybe he wouldn’t
say hello, didn’t smile or something—the least
little thing. So Shep would come—cornin’
down the hail (his office was here), and instead
of sayin’, “Hi, Bob,” he wouldn’t speak to Bob.

And then that could go on for a week, and
Bob would wonder, “That did I do?” And he’d
come to me, “What—did Shep say anything
to you about me?”

“No, nothin’.”

And, “Well, he isn’t speakin’ to me,” which
to me that’s awful; that’s little kid stuff, you
know. That was throughout the organization,
and it just got—. And then it was Shep’s “s-h-
i-t list.” And oh, “I must be on Shep’s list,”
you know. And pretty soon everybody, you
know—what? It was very bad. And purely,
just a personality thing.

It’s kinda cute—well, cute’s the wrong
word, but we were all, “How the hell do we
get rid of this guy?” you know. And we talked
about it, Lloyd, who was, you know, up there
and very close to Shep, and Mead Dixon, who’s
my confidant in everything, and Bob Hudgens,
and—’’What are we gonna do? The guy’s really
screwin’ things up around here. And what—”
you know, and, “He’s gotta go, but he’s liable
to kill himself; you know, he’s very emotional.
What,” you know, “how do we handle this?”
And this is going on for months.

So they went to Australia, and I’d been
there many times. This time it was Lloyd and
Mead and Shep; I didn’t go for some reason.
And, you know, it isn’t necessary for everybody
to go every time. And they were meeting some
of the big people there, and not only the—I
always think of the prime minister, that sort

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

123

of thing—and also some big people that were
in finance. There’s one man down there, and I
can’t remember his name; he’s Sir something,
very big in bank; he has a bank there, a zillion -
dollar bank. And he’s very friendly, always has
been to us. Any money you need, Harrah’s—
boy, we like you, so and so.

Anyway there was a dinner arranged,
and maybe there were six or eight Harrah’s
people or four or five Harrah’s people, and
maybe eight or ten or twelve of the others.
And it was a tonal dining room and so and
so, this and that. And so there’s gonna be
kinda little speeches and things. And so
Shep and Lloyd were together, and Shep
had flown over—of course, your hours are
all screwed up—and Shep was very nervous
about this speech he had to make. So he
started drinking, which, of course, is the
worst thing you can do.

So it’s kinda funny lookin’ back on it.
They’re rushed; the time isn’t, you know,
like—and they’re runnin’ and dressing and all.
And so Lloyd goes to pick up Shep. Shep’s all
cleaned up, but he’s [drunk], can’t even see! So
Lloyd is quick acting, and [to] whoever there
he said, “Boy, we got a problem here! There’s
no way we can get him sober in time. And so
Lloyd—he told me, and it’s true—when he
saw Shep in that condition, he said, “Shep,
you just blew your job,” which he did, you
know; here he’s the president of the company,
he’s over there meeting with these bigwigs,
and he’s drunk. It’s absolutely unforgivable.
So Lloyd says, “Shep, you just blew your job!
Go to bed!” And of course, Shep knew that
he was gonna blow his job, anyway; so that
wasn’t too much of a shock. And he was very
relieved he didn’t have to go to the dinner. So
he just went and slept it off.

So Lloyd and all of ’em went. And Lloyd
and Mead, told me later that—and between
the two of’em—but they both complimented

each other. They said, “Oh, Mead came
through like a (whatever the word is).” And
then Mead would say, “Lloyd came through
like a trooper or a Trojan or whatever.” And
they just, you know, said, “Mr. Sheppard is
delicate anyway; he’s been to the Mayo Clinic,
and the flight over and all, and he’s really ill,
and—. But we can answer any,” bla bla bla,
and it went off very well.

And then when we came back, why, we
asked Shep just, “Give us your resignation.”
course, we were afraid then— of course, we
weren’t afraid he was gonna kill himself, but
we were afraid that—what to do with him,
you know. And he worked for us forever. So
that’s when we worked out the—but it was
kinda touchy there, not gettin rid of him, but
keepin’ him from, you know. And maybe the
killing himself was going way -too far, but—.

So then Lloyd Dyer had come up very fast
in the organization and was doing great. And
he had been groomed to be Shep’s assistant.
Then Lloyd stepped in and has been president
ever since and is excellent.

Okay, where do we go from there?

Tell me about the formation of the corporation
then, and what made you decide that you were
going public.

Oh, yeah. The corporation—you just have
to when you get above a certain amount of
money with the United States tax structure;
you just can’t accumulate a lot of money if
you’re not incorporated. An individual can
only go so far, and then you know, you get
to the—depending on what year it is, up to
the seventy or eighty percent tax, where your
corporation is fifty percent or less. Well, when
you get into the millions, that’s a lot of money,
so you just have to be incorporated, and
which can be done legally; and then you as
the owner pay yourself a salary and so and so.

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William F. Harrah

So its much better, So that was no problem at
all doing that. And then there’s certain things
you can’t do in your corporation that you can
do as an individual, but you can work around
them pretty good.

And then going public, there was two
reasons for that. One, primarily, I needed
some money personally ’cause I could only
pay myself so big a salary. And I could pay
some dividends, but I needed more money
than that because I’d had several divorces,
and divorces are very expensive. And I’d been
living high, so I just needed money badly.
And the bank, you know— you can borrow
and all, but there comes a point where you
better start (what’s the—) consolidating
and getting things shaped up. So it was the
sensible thing. And then the other thing,
the convincer (I could’ve gone on without
it)—but the convincer (and it’s a very good
one) is estate purposes. When a company’s
publicly traded, why, then there’s—[if] you
die, there’s a tremendous tax and all. Tax
has to be paid; well, how do we pay it? Well,
like if I died tomorrow and a lot of stock of
Harrah’s, of course, there’s no major problem.
I own enough where there’s—if there is one
individual that owns a big share of it, then
to keep the company from being sold oft
in little pieces, there’s a ten-year period in a
case like that, which’ll be very easy to handle
in my case because my stock can be sold on
the market. Plus, when they’re evaluating,
the government wants to evaluate my estate,
why, there it is. I own so many shares of stock
and so much, there’s no question; they can
estimate it within the dollar. And plus the fact
that there’s a little protection there because
they’re not always too fair in judging estates.
And maybe the estate is worth so much, and
the government comes—”Oh, it’s worth this
much!” and all, and then you have to get your
lawyers and fight it out, and of course, the

lawyers cost a lot of money. I needed money;
plus for estate purposes it’s much better. And
it’s not bad really; you live with it, live with
it. I think it’s kinda good in many ways. A lot
of our stockholders are customers [laughs].

Tell me about the preparations for going public.
There must have been a lot of discussion.

Oh, everyone was in favor but me, which
you get that right away, ’cause many people
will either consciously or subconsciously
advise you, oh, you should be public, public,
public; and the reason—I have a lot of reasons,
but maybe the deep reason that they may or
may not know is that they want to own some
of it. And public they can do it, and private
they can’t, unless you want to sell ’em some,
but—.

I’ll never forget old—oh, what’s the potato
king in Idaho? Jack Simplot. I got acquainted
with him one time; he came into the Lodge
up there. And he’s a self-made man; he’s a
zillionaire. I guess he’s worth five hundred
million dollars. Started in Idaho there, and
with ranching or farming and potatoes. And
he got into potatoes real deep and raised em
and processed ’em and sold ’em and just on—
the whole thing. He owns the whole thing.
He since—one or two of his companies he
sold little pieces of, but he has a whole bunch
of companies, too. But he and I had a good
head and head talk, and we were talkin’ about
that. I think that was about the time we were
gonna go public. He said, “See so-and-so. And
we discussed it head and—you know. It has
advantages both ways. And he said, “Well, the
one trouble with it,” and he said, “I own it all,”
and he said, “I get a lot of advice,” and he said,
“men whose advice I trust, implicitly!— been
with me for twenty years, just—boy, they say
it, that’s it.” He said, “Except, where it comes
to goin’ public.” And he said, “They may not

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

125

know it, or maybe they do, but,” he said, “they
want some of it.” And so he said, “I just don’t
trust ’em there.”

course, another advantage of public (and
it’s a big advantage) is people like to own
something. It’s not a must; you know, you can
hold people, if you own all the stock yourself
for one purpose. If they’re paid very highly,
they still would like to own some of it. So
when you’re public, then you can give ’em or
sell ’em some stock—give it to them—which
we have now; it’s workin’ real good. And that’s
a tremendous advantage.

Like you can have a stock option plan,
which we have, and we just started that. Well,
MGM maybe speeded it up a little, although
not much; we already had it in the works.
But it went in effect this spring. Our very
top man, there’s not enough money in the
world to move any of ’em, and I don’t think
they could’ve moved ’em before that, but now
they—. And there’s little hooks in it. You get
so much stock and it’s given to you—here’s
a hundred thousand dollars worth of stock;
you know, a pretty big guy—and it has your
name on it, but you can’t have it for five years
or maybe six—well, it’s mostly five years. And
like you quit tomorrow—’’Good-bye, here’s
your salary; give us the stock back.” And it’s
your stock; all you gotta do is hold your job.
And we can still fire you if you go nutty, but,
you know, we’re gonna be fair about it. And
those just work super. I don’t know, we—you
don’t know how good they’re workin, ’cause
nobody’s left that has that!

See, like John Ascuaga, he’s the owner
there, and he owns it all. And he has some real
good help. But we still have a big advantage
over John, employee-wise; we never lose an
employee to John, unless it’s somebody we don’t
care about. And just because of that, here they
have a chance of getting this stock, and over
there they just get a smile and a good salary, of

course. There’s a big difference there. And you
can’t do that if you’re not public; private, you
cannot do that. Except, you know, you could
give a person a little share or two, but if it isn’t
sole ownership, you lose all the advantages of
it. Then you gotta have meetings and stuff.

How do you feel about your board of directors,
and how do they feel about you?

Oh, I like ’em; I was instrumental in
pickin’ ’em, of course, and our inside—. See,
Bill Harrah, and Lloyd Dyer, Bob Ring—(let’s
see, there’s eight of ’em). Huh! Well, Fran
[Frances] Crumley, she’s the newest. Mead
Dixon’s my lawyer and all. Ralph Phillips,
he’s great; he was a former Dean Witter. He’s
in his seventies now, but he was a big shot in
Dean Witter stockbrokers; they’re the biggest
western stockbroker. So he’s great, you know,
like any stock thing at all, why, he’s all the
answers.

And then Mead, of course, he’s law, plus
Reno—well, and Art Smith, the president of
the bank.

And then Fran—we wanted a lady on the
board. And we looked—that’s real funny. She’s
only been on there about a year, maybe less.
And I’ve know her since Elko and Newt and
the whole gang. And I used to be real close
friends with them, and when they had one
child and two children and three children
and four children and five children—been to
their house many times. But we’re lookin’ for
a lady director, and we looked and we looked
and we looked and we looked. And so we were
gonna bring one in from San Francisco and
bring one in, and then I think it was my—I
said, “Well, how about Fran Crumley?”

And, “Oh, gee!” And she’s just fine. And
she knows her stuff, knows how to read a
balance sheet, all that stuff, better than I do,
a lot better. She’s very capable.

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William F. Harrah

And she does know the resort business.

Yeah, sure. Oh, Elko’s a neat town. I used
to hang around there, and Newt, he and I
were pretty good friends, as good as we could
be because we really didn’t have too much
in common. We were both in the gambling
business, but he— trapshooter, which I’m not,
and a pilot, which I’m not, or not very good.
He was a fun guy, always very nice. I’d go over
there and hang around a few days.

We have an agenda that’s prepared weeks
ahead of time. And then you can bring up
things not on the agenda, but most things—
like Lloyd recently was invited to be on the
board of the Sierra Pacific Power Company,
which he accepted—that’s an honor. But
he said their meetings—our meetings are
anywhere from—well, like we had one
yesterday, and it was ten minutes. But our
meeting’s never over an hour. Of course, I run
it and I bang it through. But Lloyd was there
three hours! That’s a common meeting, and he
said, “They take up stuff that we would send
down four levels,” you know, about should this
be done or that, and just little chicken stuff. He
was shocked at that amount of detail that goes
to the board. Sounds to me like—and I didn’t
discuss it with him, but just sounds to me like
they have a management problem that a lot of
people that should be making decisions aren’t
makin’ ’em, and they’re sendin’ ’em up to the
board, so, it’s not good.

But any major expenditure—and a lot
of it’s kind of rubber stamp, too, like we re
building a parking thing over here, and that’s
six million dollars, and it’s all prepared and
it’s presented to the board and approved. But
quite often we’re already diggin’ a hole and
the whole thing, you know. It’s done so well
that the board is gonna approve it. But it’s
proper—there are some things that should
come up to the board, especially when the

numbers are big. I think maybe anything
over a hundred thousand dollars really needs
board approval. And you can set that yourself,
you know, depending on the company; but
I think we like anything over a hundred to
come to the board. I think one time it was
fifty, which was dumb. I think maybe it might
even be more than a hundred now; it might
be five hundred. There are just some things
that should come.

Then the annual meeting—when are
you gonna have the annual meeting; and
the dividend, you know, how much should
the dividend be, and—. And then any major
salary changes, why, they’re board. I don’t
think they’re absolutely necessary, but it’s just
a nice, clean way to do it. And a lot of things
we bring up at board meetings that aren’t
necessary, except it’s good housekeeping that
anyone wants to crab, so and so, the hoard
approved that! Lloyd didn’t approve it; the
board approved it, you know. So it’s very—.

Like our meetings, of course, they’re
friendly generally, or ninety-nine percent,
just because many of our stockholders are
customers. Plus we do, do a good job, so the
meetings aren’t unpleasant at all; they’re just
a couple of hours, and they ask questions, and
we—we know the answers. I don’t think we’ve
ever had a question asked that we didn’t have
an answer for, except some nutty questions.
But any fair questions, a lot of it you could get
out. But some people like to stand up—”My
name is Joe Blow,” so and so and so and so,
which they could’ve found out that answer by
reading the newspaper or reading the financial
report, you know. A lot of it is just havin’ fun.
We always have a cocktail party afterwards,
and so they all play the slot machines, so
it works out pretty good! We have a good
turnout at our meeting; you know, there’s six,
seven hundred people there. It’s not too—
first couple, everybody was [hand to mouth,

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127

frightened], you know. And you’ve seen in
newspapers and on TV where somebody—
[yelling] “Oh! Why!” cause they’d never had
any of that, course, business has always been
pretty good, and things really get tough—is
when all of a sudden the company’s losin’
money or maybe not makin’ very much, or
the dividends axe being cut or something. Oh
boy, then you really gotta explain it.

It’s a good thing for Nevada—gambling,
I think. And some of it is not too good; I’m a
little shocked some of these places that—and
I’m for gambling, but some of ’em in Vegas,
and I hate to keep pickin’ on Vegas, but there
are other places. There are some sloppy
operations in the state. I like to travel by car
and drive to Idaho sometimes, which means
goin’ to Elko, Winnemucca, and all through
there. And some of the places, I look at ’em,
and I look at ’em through the eyes of a tourist
from the East. “Never been here before?” And
I would be shocked. You know, there’re some
pretty sloppy, slovenly places, terrible run
places, that the state should clean up. And
they may not be cheating, but they’re just kind
of a disgrace to the—to sweep ’em out once
in a while, which I guess the state shouldn’t
get into that. So I’ve seen some that made me
kind of ashamed at—and they give me a bad,
bad feeling.

You don’t bother to count those places or watch
them?

Oh no, no, no. Just anything that’s
competition, you want to know what’s goin’
on or anything that—where you’re interested,
and possibly locating. Like we’ve checked on
Vegas for years, primarily down there—well,
to get new ideas, plus the show business.
Know who was doin’ what—that was real
important. But also we’ve got our eye on

Vegas, and we’ll probably wind there some
day. There’s a lot of money there.

So to answer your question, we check
things that are of interest to us, like—and
we check Winnemucca and Wendover. Yeah,
we’ve been to Wendover many times, been
to Jackpot many times. In fact I’ve been to
every—I like those on the border cause we
were so successful in California, the South
Shore, that I’ve always liked ’em on the line
like that. I’ve been on every one in the state,
where there’s a casino on the state line; I’ve
been there, and looked it over, astounded! I
like ’em. And there’s quite a few in the state,
too. There’s some—Arizona, you know, there’s
some; Utah; California; and Idaho.

You were saying that you’d probably end up
in Vegas sometime. How about some of the
places out of the state? There’s always the talk
that you’re going to move into Australia; you’re
going to move here, there —.

Oh yeah, yeah. Well, yeah, we’re workin’
hard on Australia. And we looked at anywhere
else, like if it goes into Florida, we’re interested.
We’re not too interested in New Jersey ’cause
it’s real unhealthy back there. It’s just gangster
ridden; I don’t think it’ll ever get out of that.
Florida, I think, will be okay. And anywhere
where we can make some money, why, we’re
interested.

We’ve looked at London, and there’s
money there, but we were a little slow in
getting in there, and I don’t think we wanted
to because it’s—. They make some money;
they make a lot of money. But money isn’t
everything. But they have such goofy laws
there that I’d be almost ashamed to have a
place there. Like the British law, you know, is
to protect the man on the street, so the way it
winds up, it’s just for the very wealthy, which
is all right, I guess. Then the really crazy ones

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William F. Harrah

are like you can’t have liquor in a casino. So
you’re sight-seeing, okay—”1 want a drink.”

“You can’t have one here. If you go over
there, you can have a drink.”

And so you have to go in the restaurant to
get a drink. So you go in the restaurant to have
a drink. It’s not the operators; it’s the officials
with their law. So, “Okay, I want a drink.”

“Well, we can’t serve you a drink if you
don’t eat.”

“Okay, well then give me the cheapest
sandwich you have.”

No, no, you have to have a full-course
meal.” I mean, like that.

So it’s irritating; finally you say, “Oh, the
hell with it! We’ll go out the door, go down
the street to a pub, we’ll have a drink, then
we’ll come back,” you know—just those kind
of things.

But England, their gambling is—huh! —
and they do make some money; I shouldn’t
knock it. I just hate to operate under a—’cause
I’ve done that in California with our Bingo
games—under subterfuge, and you have
to look people in the eye and tell ’em, you
know—two and two is nine—it’s not fun.

Well, we’re interested anywhere. We’re
so hopeful that Australia will go this year,
as we’re all set up there with our partners
(you have to have partners, and we have our
partner), our location, everything; it’s just
a political thing now of the timing and the,
what do they call ’em—it’s like a governor
of the state, but he’s the prime minister or
something. And when it’s politically—climate
is good, he’s for it. And when it’s good, why,
he’s gonna bring it out, and takes a vote of
the what we call our “Senate,” only, course,
it has “House of Lords” or some darn thing.
And he controls that pretty good, so when
he says, “Go,” it’s gonna go. And he’s for it—I
know him personally; I met him three or four
times—real super guy.

That’s in Melbourne. And then Sydney’s a
little different. Melbourne is, I think a million,
eight. Sydney’s two million, two. Sydney
had crooked gambling—I mean, had illegal
gambling. But that’s been closed the last few
months, and so the climate there is getting
closer, but it’s quite a ways—further away than
Melbourne, I think.

And then there’s another place there called
Gold Coast. That’s up by Brisbane, which is I
guess a million [people]. That’s in the north.
And the Gold Coast, we were there with
the old car rallye. That looked like Miami
Beach almost, on a smaller scale—with the
beach and the hotels and all; I’d love to have
a place there. Population there is a hundred
thousand, permanent. And then during the
season, which is wintertime, which is their
summer (our winter), it’s up several hundred
thousand, I guess. So that looked good to me; I
could just picture a place there. We were there
several days.

The beauty of Australia, they’ll be limited,
talking about one license or at the most, two,
which is always good for the operator.

That’s exciting to be thinking about “Harrah’s
International.”

Yeah. Oh, we’ve thought about how
we’d operate, you know. We’d send our guys
over, and it takes people to run it. And
well, would we send ’em permanent, and
we thought we’d just try it out on a—some
people might want to stay there. We thought
maybe at first, have ’em on a six months or a
year program, I think which should be nice.
And do it right—let ’em take their family and
the whole thing. Probably a year’d be pretty
realistic if they took their family. And then
at the end of the year, maybe within nine
months or something, why, “Yes, we want
to stay another year,” or “We want to come

From Harrah’s Club to Harrah’s, Inc., 1946-1978

129

back.” And, course, it’d have to be worth it to
them financially. If I was with the company,
I’d like something like that; if it didn’t hurt
my career position any, and I could spend a
year down there, why, boy! And you know,
you have to be well paid. That’s a long ways
away, though; that’s sixteen, seventeen
hours on the plane. So they don’t have much
tourism down there at all; it’s all just local,
as tourism is practically nonexistent. It’s just
too far.

What other plans do you have for expansion?
You told me earlier about the Harrah’s World.

There’s that, and then over here [points
east] if we can ever get the Basque restaurant,
which is—that’s some time. I think we’ll
probably get it eventually because we offered
three or four times what it was worth, so no
matter how mad they are with us or whatever,
why, time’ll cure that, I’m sure. But in the
meantime, why, we’re—it’s a key piece; it’s
right in the middle of everything. And we’ve
drawn plans (cost us zillions) how to work
around it, and it just—you come back and
you can do it, but it’s just lousy; it’s like havin’
the pig in the middle of the dining room, you
know. You can do it, but it doesn’t work very
good [laughing]!

In fact, we were talkin’ about it at lunch
today, just what haven’t we done? And
financially, you can only go so far, and that’s
it, you know. I think we offered quadruple the
appraisal, and we could’ve offered ten times,
but still that’s a lot of money. We have to
answer to our stockholders, and you get up in
the millions, you know, you better have some
pretty good answers. Just can’t say, “Well, I
thought maybe that might work.” You gotta
have more than that. You gotta show that you’d
make it back and all that. Well, it’s just one of
those things.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but
people say, “Oh, doesn’t that bug ya?” And I
know, ’cause so many things we ye gotten that
we shouldn’t’ve gotten, you know. Just at the
Take, we just fell into place up there. (I think
I’ve told you that), just one after another, just
plump, plump, plump, plump, plump.

And what’s fun is planning things and
havin’ ’em work out; that’s a lot of fun—having
a problem, and this isn’t working, and the
people won’t go to the second floor for lunch,
and how do you get ’em up there? So you have
this and that, and that doesn’t work, doesn’t
work, doesn’t work. And then finally you
figure it out, and it does work. And that’s such
a wonderful feeling. People are standing in
line to get up there to eat; it’s the neatest place
ever, you know, where before you couldn’t get
up there with a twenty-dollar bill. And just it
was one little thing. But the public’ll tell ya,
if you just give it a try, and they’ll say, “That’s
awful,” or “That’s good.” And they’ll tell you
just like that [snaps fingers]. Doesn’t take
months; in days you can find out. Well, you
can find out in one day whether somethin’s
good or bad, just one day.

It’s just learning to listen to people, isn’t it?

Well, and observing, you know. They’ll
come up, and they go, “Ooooh” [gesture,
turns away]. And then others come up—
’’Hmmmm.” Maybe it’s too fancy in front
or, you know, too bright or too dim or too
somethin’. And when they go, “Oh, wow!
Hey!” [Gesture, going in] “Look at this!”
You know. They’ll sure tell you, real loudly
sometimes [chuckling].

I told you about the butter, didn’t I, the
salt-free butter? [No.] That I discovered on
my first trip to Europe, and then a second
trip. Nice restaurant, and the butter—I just
loved it. And what is that? I knew it was butter.

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William F. Harrah

And it was the butter they use in London and
in the fancy restaurants of Europe. It’s the
standard butter; it has no salt in it. And it’s
just wonderful. And so I brought it back and,
can you buy it in Reno? And sure, you can buy
it. And wow, let’s serve it in the South Shore
Room, and let’s be classy. With our rolls we’ll
have this—(what’s the—there is a word for
it, too). And so then I couldn’t go that night.
But first thing I looked at in our reports the
next day was see how it went over. And the
comments in the South Shore Room (and
there were many) is, “What’s the matter with
the butter?” [Laughter] “The butter’s spoiled,
the butter’s terrible!” What do they call that—
it’s salt free, but there’s another name for it.
[Sweet butter] —that might be right, but it
doesn’t sound right.

I guess the answer is that even in gambling, you
can’t win ’em all.

No. Well, it’s becoming more prevalent,
though, you know, like you go to San Francisco
or L.A., a nice restaurant, and you get it there
now. It has no salt. Well, the reason, it’s more
expensive ’cause it doesn’t last as long without
the salt in it, so it gets rancid sooner.

Well, it’s been a fun business. I think
I’ve said that— it’s money and people. Being
successful is fun, of course, and very lucrative;
and it’s wonderful to have money, do what you
want to do, not have to worry. Sometimes I
should worry about the cost, but I don’t any
more; I haven’t done that in years. When I buy
somethin’, I just go ahead and buy it and then
worry about it—or let Bob Hudgens worry
about it! I don’t do the wrong thing, usually.
You know, I want to buy my wife a fancy fur
coat, I just do it, which is a wonderful feeling.
And fortunately I have a wife that doesn’t want
every fur coat she sees.

So it’s been fun, and having money is fun.
Anybody that says having money isn’t fun is
not tellin’ the truth, ’cause you can avoid so
many “standing-in-line” sort of things that
makes life, you know, more enjoyable. Like
New York, the chauffeured limo—that sort
of thing is just so wonderful. Or L.A.—or
[chuckles] Indianapolis—or San Francisco.

Harrah’s Tahoe

And goin’ to the Lake, I told you about
how that came about, didn’t I? Well, the way
that came about was, I’d gone to the Lake
for years and admired it up there, how good
it was. But the north end I really had never
cared for too much because it was so hard to
get to. The south end I liked a lot. I liked to
go to the north end as a customer, but I never
got serious about a place there. And the south
end I liked, but I thought, too bad I wasn’t here
before because everything was taken. And it
was all at the state line there. I understood
that Park owned the land there, and that was
unavailable which it still is. So I had given up
any thought of goin to the Lake.

But I saw how good it was. We had a—
well, this is real important, I think, that I
went up there in September, usually, because
in July and August I was very busy and I
worked real hard. I was here every day and
seven days a week and checkin’—that’s when
we made it. So I never went to the Lake in the
summertime. I knew it was pretty good. But in
September I would go, and it would be pretty
slow, and middle of September at the north

end would be dead, and the south end would
be slow. And they closed up usually pretty
fast. So I—so what?—that’s the way it was.

Well, then, we started having some
Horseless Carriage tours, or get into old cars.
In ’48,1 got the first one, -and then the 50s, I
really got into old cars. They had tours various
places which I went on, and so, “Oh, let’s have
a Reno tour,” which we did. And at tours, you
invite old car owners to come. And you have a
package deal; you charge ’em so much money,
and that includes their room and their meals
and maybe a cocktail party or two. And you
drive to Virginia City, or you drive here and
there, and it’s a lot of fun. So we started having
what we called the Reno Tour, and we d go a
different place every year. So one year, part of
the tour we went to the South Shore, and we
went there in July. And I remember walking
in the Gateway Club at the time, and it was
really a crummy place, just terrible. And the
business was unbelievable! And just the Crap
tables were two deep, and the “21” games and
the slot machines and— it was busy, busy,
busy. And I’d just that day come from Reno,

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William F. Harrah

and we were doin’ pretty good. But we had a
very nice place, and George’s was a crummy
place; and he was doin’ two or three times the
business we were. And we were there a day or
two, and it was—that was the business. That
wasn’t just that one day; that was there.

So later I thought, “Well, too bad I don’t,”
you know. But no way, you know. Anybody
that has a place here—just not even thinkable
going to ask anybody if they wanted to sell
’cause it was just, you know—nobody’d be that
nutty.

I wondered if you would like to begin about how
you decided on going into gaming at Tahoe.

Did I mention Eddie Questa?—asking
him which way the town was gonna grow?
Well, that’s very interesting. That’s how I
found out about Tahoe because I’d been there.
I guess I ran out of time on the Horseless
Carriage in the sunnier, because that’s when
we had the tour, which I never went to the
Lake in the summer. But because of the tour,
I did; and I was at the south end of the Lake
and saw how well George [Cannon]— the
Gateway Club. Curly Musso was in there,
too. They were doing awfully well. And then
across the street was the Stateline Country
Club, it was called. And next to that was Bud
Beecher. Bud Beecher had a club there. The
old man owned it, which we later bought out.
But anyway, they were all doin’ super business.

So I thought, “Well, too late. I should’ve
been here twenty years ago. It’s too late to
get a place at Tahoe. Everything’s taken, and
everybody’s doin’ good; nobody’s gonna want
to sell.” So I didn’t even think of approaching
anybody.

So then, getting back to the museum—
and I did want to put it somewhere. And
395 South and Highway 40 at the time were
both, I think, two-lane roads—or four-lane,

but they weren’t developed too good. Then it
was really a question which way the town was
gonna grow. And I asked Eddie Questa, who
I admired very much. So I came to see Eddie
right in this office and I asked him. I said,
“Which way is the town gonna grow—east,
west, or south?”

And he thought, he laughed and thought.
He said, “Well, let me think that over, Bill.” He
said, “I really haven’t thought about it, but I’ll
think about it.” And then he said, “By the way,
did you know George’s Gateway Club is for
sale for five hundred thousand dollars?”

I was amazed, and—I don’t [know]
if Eddie said the five— yeah, he said five
hundred. And I was amazed that it was for
sale and that it was that cheap.

And then I asked him for a name of a good
realtor. And he said the best one he knew of—
he said there were plenty of’em, but the one he
liked—and was a real straight shooter— was
the fella who started the shopping center out
here— you know, Park Lane—Ben Edwards.

Well, anyway, Eddie said, “See him.” So I
called him, and I guess he came to see me. He
was a real go-getter. I told him what I wanted.
I wanted a hundred acres or whatever. And
he’s the one that said, “By the way, did you
know that George’s Gateway Club is for sale
for five hundred thousand dollars?”

And I said, “Boy, if that’s true, you got a
deal!”

So we went from there. George didn’t own
the property, but he had I think a twenty-
three-year lease. I always liked to buy the
property, but his lease was long enough that
I figured, “Gee, if it’s any good, I can make
enough money to buy it,” which is the way it
worked out. So it was just a lease, but it was
a long lease. And so we went to work on it,
and this Ben was a super guy at puttin’ deals
together ’cause there were all sorts of subleases
to be signed, and there were three or four

Harr ah’s Tahoe

133

partners, and there was a restaurant there
that had three or four partners in it, and just
on and on. And the partners were married
and had to get their wives’ signatures. And
Ben just worked twenty-four hours a day just
about, put the whole deal together in less than
five days. And we had the place. And that was
in January of’55. Then we opened around the
twentieth of June that year.

What did you have to do to get ready to open?

It was a terrible run-down place—just
awful. Slot machines weren’t any good, and
it was a quonset hut. And it looked like a
quonset hut, and we couldn’t afford, or we
didn’t want to tear it down, but we covered
it so you couldn’t tell it was a quonset hut.
We put a false front on it, so you couldn’t see
the round part on top; and then inside we
cleaned it up, really made it nice. Cleaned up
the restaurant, and put in some of our typical
Reno slot machines, made the odds on the
games the same as Reno (the odds up there
then were tougher than Reno just because
of the short season). We made ’em the same,
which was a very good idea. And then the
place at the Lake was an instant success—one
of the few we’ve had where we didn’t have
to really push hard to make it go. It was just
needed up there. It was full from the day it
opened.

But then when Labor Day came, it really
fell off, and there was hardly anybody around.
And so that’s when we started running
buses—Greyhound buses and refunding
part of their ticket—which worked out very
successfully. And we still do that today. In
fact, at one time (I don’t know if we still are),
we were the largest customer of Greyhound’s
outside of the armed services. But we ran—I
think like the other day, we ran seventy buses.
But I think at first, there, we really built it up;

we got up to several—over a hundred and
some a day—Sacramento, San Francisco, and
Lodi, and all those little places.

It’s kind of a nice thing, but we’ve been
criticized (not too strongly) on buses, but a
little bit. A critic could watch the people up
there, and they’re all older people and— said,
those pensioners, you’re taking their check
and all, and that’s—. Well, they’re enjoying
themselves, and they ride up on the bus, and
everybody knows everybody from previous
trips, and so on. So that’s the lady that hit the
big jackpot, and that’s the man that did so-
and-so and so-and-so. And they visit all the
way up and go in, and they go to their favorite
slot machine or their favorite “21” game and
have a nice lunch and play some more. More
of them lose than win, of course, but some of
’em win. And then when they go back on the
bus at two in the morning (whatever), a lot of
’em are sleepin’ and some of the winners are
braggin and some of the losers are crabbin
and it’s just—. But it’s a nice day’s outing for
them. I can’t see it hurts a thing.

Was that your idea to start the buses going up
there?

Yeah, that was mine, yeah, that was—
everybody said, “You’re brilliant,” but really
wasn’t.

That darn guy, [Ben Edwards], too! He
wouldn’t listen to me, which was—. He drank
pretty good—a little too much— but he got
the job done. He smoked those cigarettes like
they were goin’ out of style, and I really got
on him about the cigarettes. And he—”Oh,
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah”—you know. Then he
fell over; it was too bad. Boy, he could put a
deal— he was like a bulldog chasm’ a rat on
a deal. He was just goin. Like I said, all these
partners and their wives—and you have to
get the signature. Ben would just go to the

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William F. Harrah

house and, “Excuse me, I know it’s Sunday
night at nine o’clock, but it’s very important
we get this paper signed. Here it is,” and get
it. And so many realtors or people on deals
will say, “Well, it’s Sunday, it’s late, we’ll do it
tomorrow,” you know. Then Monday, why, da
da da; Tuesday—it could drag on for months.
He’s just quite a guy.

He was a good man. He was good for the
City. Well, imagine at that Park Lane, you
know, all those landowners out there. And he
had to run around to them; those were—that
was a big deal, you know. And they—long¬
term leases, and some would sell, some
wouldn’t—boy! I think it’s Sonner Greenspan
is the manager. He was [Ben’s] guy; he was his
assistant, yeah. He’s a good man.

Anything more that you want to say about the
early days at the Lake? The other old-timers,
the people who were your competition up there.

Yeah, I have a story on Harvey [Gross]
that’s pretty good. He’s a competitor. And I
can say good and bad about him, but you can
say good and bad about all your competitors.
Lately Harvey and I are—he’s a year or so
older than I am, but we’re gettin’ up there.
And we’ve mellowed. So I run into him at
various events once or twice a year, and we
have a drink together and shake hands and
smile and remember the old days—oh, ho,
ho. And oh, we’re buddy-buddy. But Harvey
was a tough competitor in many ways—still
is.

But one story I like to tell on him and bust
his bubble—of course, he’s a multimillionaire
now, which is fine. But one time he had this
little tiny place up there, and I was there in
the off-season, i remember he stayed open all
year. He says he is a pioneer up there, which
I guess he is because he did stay open all
winter. But he had about four slot machines

and one “21” game, and it was Harvey and
another fella and they ran it. That was it,
which is okay.

But then one year things were pickin’ up
up there. I think it was right after the war.
And Harvey—it was either a dime machine or
a quarter machine, which he didn’t have. He
had about ten slot machines. And he wanted
to know if he could borrow, I think it was a
quarter machine till his came in. And I said,
“Yeah.” I didn’t rent it to him; I just let him
have it, which was no big deal. Maybe it was
a dime machine.

But then months went by and I didn’t get
my dime machine back, and so finally I called
him up. And I said, “Hey, where’s my dime
machine?”

He said, “Oh gee. I’ll send it back to you.”

I said, “Okay.” And it didn’t come, and I
didn’t need it; but then it started to irritate
me, and I didn’t get it back.

So I asked him—no, hadn’t come in. So
then I called him up again. I was really mad—I
don’t get too mad, but I got mad. I said,
“Harvey, are you gonna send that machine
back, or do I have to come up and get it?”

And he said, “I’ll send it back, I’ll send it
back!” And he did, but—. I don’t remind him
of that any more, but when he gets putted up
with his millions, why, I think about it and
have my own little laugh.

Isn’t that kind of unusual for somebody to
borrow a slot machine?

Well, it was right after the war, and there
weren’t any of’em—it was just what you had.
They were gettin ready to start to make ’em
again, so they were just—you couldn’t buy a
new one, you had to buy a used one, and they
were all in business, So for a year or so there,
it was real tough to get one, but he just kept it.
I think he forgot it, probably. Harvey’s okay.

Harr ah’s Tahoe

135

What’s the difference between competition
there at the south end and what goes on at the
north end?

Well, they’re competitors with each other;
they’re not competitors with the south end.
People that go to the south end—they aren’t
the same people that go to the north end
(maybe they are today, but—). See, the north
end, you can’t get to. I like to say that, ’cause
I don’t have a place there. But it’s—south end
is easy. The road isn’t the best in the world,
but you just get on Highway 50 and forget it,
where the north end, you have to watch for
the turnoff and take this so-and-so and go by
what is it—the ski—Squaw Valley and keep
goin , and it’s just—if the north end of the
Lake was on Highway 80, look out! That’d be
super. But it isn’t, so—.

Did you take all that into consideration when
you were thinking about buying at the south
end?

Oh no. Just the south end was for sale—
well, I knew the south end was ten times
better than the north end ’cause our tour
would go to the north end the sane day—I
could see what was happenin’ up there.
And it was just—well, the north end wasn’t
comfortable because it was squeezed in on
that little narrow road and the Lake right
there—it was pretty—and the mountain, and
there was no room for parking, there was
no—it just wasn’t a fun place. And I would
love to have a place there but it was just—.
The south end, there was plenty of land,
plenty of—an awful lot of trees in there. And
they hadn’t bothered; really, that’s amazing—
this George’s and Stateline Country Club—all
of ’em—they could cut ’em—there was no
Forest Service—no whatever it is that you
have to go to today.

And they just said, “Why don’t you chop
down a tree?”

And “Oh,” they said, “they can park up
the street.” People are parked all over every
which way.

And we went in there, and I asked—
see, that was under a lease. So I went to (I
mentioned his name) the senator in Carson
City, Ken Johnson. I remember I went to Ken,
and I said—you know, he owned it, and I
had the twenty-three-year lease. “Ken, those
trees,” da da da. “Can I cut some down?”

He said, “Sure.”

And I said, “How many?”

He said, “Cut ’em all down if you want to.”
He was super; as long as I paid the rent, he
was fun. And I did; I cut ’em all down. And
there were plenty around. Oh, no, I didn’t
cut ’em all; there were a few that did no good
to cut down, so I left them, of course, But I
cut most of them down and put in three or
four hundred parking places. And the rear
entrance where people could—kind of made
a tremendous thing—just people poured in.
’cause I knew—I was up there; I had a car. I
had a terrible time parking. That’s still true
today. A lot of people don’t—you see as you
travel around; you see a place that doesn’t have
any parking, and not doin’ too good.

Did you just lift a staff out of here and carry
it up there?

Yeah, mostly. But I mentioned Curly
Musso earlier; he was a partner of George.
And Curly didn’t want to sell out. Curly liked
it there. But as his partner wanted to sell,
Curly went along. I don’t know how they
worked it out between themselves.

And then Curly went to work for us right
away. And he worked out fine. He was kind
of the old school over the— might’ve run
a strong game (I don’t know that he did).

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William F. Harrah

Curly just worked out beautiful for us, and he
worked until he retired a few years ago. And
he still lives at the Lake, and he comes around;
I see him four or five times a year. He comes
to all our shows. When any of our executives
retire that amounted to anything, we might
give ’em a gold card, which is for our good
customers, but we also give gold cards to our
excellent employees. And that’s a card—it is
gold; it’s not real gold, but it looks like gold.
And it’s metal, and it has their name on it,
and it’s good for a comp at any of our shows
or restaurant or anything like that. And they
would be—Curly would be—comped anyway,
if he went to the show just because of who he
is. But still, having the gold card is quite nice.
He was delighted at that.

I guess most of the people at the Lake
outside of Curly, we took up from here. Rome
Andreotti spent a lot of time up there. And
Lloyd Dyer, the president, went to work up
there as a summer job during his college
vacation. That’s how he started, but he started
at the Lake. I guess about everybody up there
we took up from Reno. And like most things
like that, where you move executives around
(which lots of national companies have the
problem), you find that there were many
people in Reno that wanted to go to the Lake
the worst way, that liked the sailing or liked
the scenery or liked something, and there
were many others that didn’t want to go to
the Lake at all, didn’t want any part of it. But
good of law of averages took care of that, so
we managed to find plenty of help for both
places. It was a very successful place at Tahoe.

Did I tell you the story about my father
and the letter? Yeah, he wrote me a letter.
He didn’t write me much ’cause we saw each
other quite a bit. So when he wrote me, it
was usually fatherly advice, which wasn’t
too much—he’d kind of given up on me by
then. But I bought the place at the Lake and

opened it up; then he wrote me a long letter
(he always wrote longhand), and you knew
his letter when you saw the envelope ’cause
his left-handed style. And “Dear Bill” (this was
when we opened in Tahoe), it said, “I think
you made a big mistake in going to the Lake,
’cause you had a lot of problems in Reno, and
you finally got ’em straightened out. And you
got everything paid for down there, and you
got some money, you’re independent for life
(if you want to be). But no, that wasn’t good
enough, you had to go up in the backwoods
up there [chuckles], take on this thing—you’re
way in debt” (which I was), so-and-so and
so-and-so. And I don’t think he said, “You’re
a damn fool,” but it was a real strong letter.

So I was impressed, but I knew that, you
know, it looked good and it was good. And so
first year, that place up there made a million
dollars on its own. And I had a statement on
that, ’cause we kept them separate, which we
still do—and it showed a million, hundred
thousand or somethin’. So I got a copy of that
and a copy of my father’s letter, and I sent
it to him. That’s all, just his letter to me and
the statement for a million dollars. And he
got a big kick out of that. He told everybody
he knew about so—da da da da. Which in
a way was a good example of us, ’cause I
was really kinda—he was very conservative,
which says—I don’t mean that derogatory,
but that was his nature. And he was careful,
and he never made a lot of money real easy
like I guess I had; so money came harder,
why, you watched it better. But he was more
conservative than me.

What special kinds of problems or satisfactions,
arrangements did you have to make in
establishing a branch?

Well, we just had two operations instead
of one. It was really—you just do what you

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137

have to do. And you had two operations.
We went back and forth, which was one nice
thing about it, ’cause all top executives got
nice automobiles to drive and my automobile
became a business deduction for the first time
in my life, which was very pleasant. We had
established good communication and teletype
and all that sort of thing, so we kept in touch
real good what was goin’ on. So the operation
wasn’t too difficult.

One of the things that happened that same year
was that the legislature passed the Gaming
Control Board law that made a regular
investigatory agency.

As far as the state and all, we just went
along. We were always a good operation, so
whatever the law was, why, we just went along.
So it was no big deal with us. And I’m sure
we probably crabbed about more paperwork,
more this and that; but it wasn’t—no problem.

Then, of course, another thing about—
small thing—about being at Tahoe and Reno
is you go through Carson, every time you go;
so it used to be a big thing goin’ to Carson,
almost. And with our new operation we were
there—everybody was there— several times
a week. Plus something we’d done ever since
(which is good) is like we go to see all the
shows—or I do, or most of the top execs see all
the shows at the Lake. Our headquarters are
in Reno, but we a Tao, to get out of our shells,
which everybody needs to do, including me,
we’ll have—board of directors will be one
month in Reno, and next at the Lake, and then
our various other meetings. Entertainment
meeting will be one month in Reno and one
month at the Lake, and that way we do have to
circulate, which is very good. So it really hasn’t
been very difficult operating both of ’em.
Another thing that’s extremely handy about
it, the places are far enough apart (and they

draw from a somewhat different clientele) that
we can use our same stars at both places. And
of course, our Reno room isn’t quite as large
as our Tahoe room, so we don’t pay quite as
much money; but many of our stars because
of friendship and whatever, will work both
places—like Jim Nabors and Sammy Davis
and just about all of ’em have worked both
places.

In the meantime, our club at the Lake
really wasn’t— it was an old quonset hut, as
I said, and there was Stateline Country Club
across the way, which had a lot of land, or
more land than we had, and also was a good—
at least from the outside it looked pretty good.
It was an old, old, building. But it was a real
nightclub, and Sahati had it—Eddie and
(there were two Sahatis). Yeah, there were two
Sahatis up there; there was Eddie, and [Nick]

They owned the Stateline Country Club,
and they ran it just awful. They were crooked
and full of shills and everything, but it was
a nightclub. They owned the property and
had made a failure of it, and Eddie was quite
a player himself. In fact, he came in here in
our place and won forty thousand dollars one
time, which was the biggest loss we’d had. But
they owned the property over there, and they’d
made such a mess of it that [Nick] Sahati was
the orneriest man I ever met in my life, an
absolutely rude, crude, push, shove, spit, yell,
scream—you name it—just absolutely no
manners, morals, or anything—just an awful
guy. And that’s the reason that he failed in the
place, but they owned the property. So they
leased it to some operators from the Bay Area
who weren’t very good. There were two or
three of ’em; I don’t remember their names.
But these fellas, they got in the lease, and they
knew how ornery this Sahati was. They didn’t
think they could get along with him, and they
thought they might have a successful thing;
they weren’t too open with him. So they had

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William F. Harrah

an option in the lease to buy the property for
so much money

Well, we were doin’ real fine on our side of
the road. Next to us was Harvey’s, who was a
strong competitor. Then across the road was
the Stateline Country Club. And next to that
was the Nevada Club. That was right on the
line; that was a little place. Stateline Country
Club was quite a big place. It had a showroom
and everything. And that had been—that
was there when I first come to Nevada, just
about— old-timer. He just ran in the summer.
And it was a real crooked place.

And, let me think, who owned the Nevada
Club—it was Bud Beecher.

But anyway, the Stateline Country Club
was crooked; it was a terrible place. And it
changed hands all the time, and it was just
dirty. Bad news. And then there was a place
next to it, a little hole in the wall. Well, it
was called the Main Entrance because it was
between Beecher’s Nevada Club— Beecher’s
Nevada Club was right on the line across
the street, and that was an honest place,
and they just ran in July and August. That
was Bud Beecher, and I forget the father’s
name; he was quite a guy. And next to that
was the Main Entrance, which was a little
tiny place, and it was real crooked. And next
was the Stateline Country Club. And that
was crooked. They were bad for the area. But
we were doin’ fine. And Beecher was a good
friend. He liked to run in July and August; we
ran all year. And then he would go to Palm
Springs. And he made a lot of money ’cause
they had pretty high limits. They had a good
reputation. And I’ll never forget—he’d had
no restaurant. And people would say, “Where
can we eat?”

And he’d point right across the street at
us. He said, “There’s the best place at Tahoe to
eat.” He would send real good customers, he’d
send ’em over and pick up their check, and if

they played over with us, tine; it was all right
with him.

So they were just wonderful. And Stateline
was terrible, and it was doin’ awful. And Nick
Sahati owned it, who was a real terrible guy.
But there were some people in there, and they
had a lease, and they wanted to sell me the
lease. And it was a three-year lease—or two
years. And I said, “No! I don’t want that!”

And they—’’Well, don’t you think it’s a
good place?”

And I said, “Well, it could be. But,” I said,
“two years, and,” I said, “then Nick Sahati’ll
kick ya out on your ears.”

And they said, “Oh, no, there’s an option
in there—an option to buy the property.”

And I said, “Huh?” And I said, “Bring me
the lease!”

And they brought me the lease, and there
was an option in there. I took it to Mead
Dixon, I’m sure—”Is that a good option
or—?” (I don’t know if Mead was with us,
then. That was ’55—yeah, he was workin’ for
us.)

“Yes, that is a good option.” So we
bought it. And of course, Nick fought in all
directions. And then at the end of two years,
we exercised the option, and, the meantime
we’d fixed it up.

And about that time (that’s one of those
interesting things)—Beecher, you think, is
gonna be there forever ’cause they’re makin’
a lot of money, they’re wealthy and all. And
Bud, the son, was real sick. He’s still alive in
Vegas, but he’s real crippled up. I go see him
every year or so. And his father really ran it,
and he was real sharp; he was real old but
real sharp. And then, as old people do, he just
came apart all of a sudden. I think he died
suddenly. So there was nobody to run it. So
Bud called me up, and he and I made the deal.
And we made the deal in two minutes—’cause
it was worth maybe two million dollars. And

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139

what it made and the location—and I said,
“What do you want?”

And he said, “I want two million dollars,”
and just zing, zing, zing.

So we got that place, and we had the club.
And then there were a bunch of little pieces
around there, like there was one—I got the
property from Park, but there was a piece
right in the middle.

That—oh, a fella that had—see, Brooks
Park’s father (what was his name?)—D. W.
[Wallace] Park—that’s an important name. He
was a wonderful old guy; we spent a lot of time
together, and I’d talk to him for hours. And he
would never say no, but he would never say
yes. And he never sold a square foot, except to
this guy. And he was a Basque. But for some
reason, old man Park liked him, and he sold
him maybe a quarter of an acre right in the
middle of everything. So we had this property
at Stateline; then we bought a piece here and
a piece there from little odds and ends. But
this one piece, it belonged to this fella, and it
was right in the middle of everything, and we
had a lease on it, of course, And the rent was
nominal, but it was always short. And here’s
you know—so we had to get that. And the guy
that owned it was a real nut.

So I made friends with him (and when I
work at it, I can make friends). And I went
to see him, and he was a real quiet guy and
kinda bashful, and he was a brickmason, I
think. And he did wonderful work. And we
had him do—but how many chimneys can
you build? [Laughter] He had a phobia that he
would come in the restaurant, and he would
get a piece of glass; he’d bring it in his pocket.
And somehow, he had it worked out real good.
And then he—”Oh, oh” [gesture, pulls from
his mouth] (he’d be eating; he always ate at the
lunch counter), “Oh!” And a piece—and his
mouth’s cut. And somethin’—it was chipped,
you know.

So the first time, “Oh, gee!” you know.
And then, second time—and this is within a
year (we settled, you know, for eight hundred
dollars or somethin’). And then the second
time, and my guy said, “Well, gee, he’s just a
phony. You know, he’s done it across the street,
he’d done it in Carson City, he’s done it all over.
He’s no good,” you know. “Forget it!”

And I said, “No, no, no. Pay ’im!” you
know.

So, “Whad’ya payin’ him for?”

I said, “Never mind! Pay ’im!”

So then he would work it—well, he got
us three or four or five times. And it’s drivin’
the other end, you know; they didn’t see the
whole story, or even if they did, it just drove
’em up, you know. “Here you’re payin’ a guy
twenty-seven hundred dollars for nothin’! It’s
a dirty rob,” you know [laughing].

“It’s all right! It’s okay,” you know.

And then he’d come to me, and he’d tell
me, he said, “Bill, I’m not,” you know. “My
friend Bill,” he said, “some of your people
think it’s phony,” he said, “that’s not true!”
He said, “I came in and I—” he said, “I know
it sounds funny, but,” he said, “I bit into that
hamburger and there was a great big piece
of glass, and I cut my tongue—” [points to
mouth], [Laughter]

So eventually we got the piece of property!
But the only way we got it was by payin’ of f.
And he was a good guy, otherwise. He was a
good citizen, he didn’t get drunk, and he did
a job for you; he did it, you know, and always
courteous and polite and every—. But it was
absolutely—he was a nut in that department.

But anyway, we got it, and what a relief
that was, ’cause we owned, you know—I
think we put eight or ten pieces to put the
whole thing together. And this one right in
the middle— ooh! [Laughter]

Okay. Well, then we—forget when we
opened that, but we ran em both. But that

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William F. Harrah

became the Number One right away. And we
ran the ol’-we called it the Lake Club ’cause it
was on the Lake side of the road. We just ran it
summers. And it was profitable, but our main
thrust was over there. And then it got where it
really wasn’t too profitable because we split our
help, and they were runnin back and forth across
the street, and Harvey [Gross] needed it badly.

That’s a cute story, too. And he sent Bill
Ledbetter, who was his Number One guy at
the time, to see me. And Bill and I were always
very good friends ’cause Bill was a good, honest,
straight kid; plus he was super nice to my
father. Bill and my father were just real good
friends. They were on the sewer board together
up there and—just wonderful. I like Bill very
much; I still like Bill. And he and Harvey had
a falling-out, which is another matter.

Harvey sent Bill to see me about buyin’
the—’cause he knew the Lake club, we didn’t
need it. So okay, “Will you sell it?”

And I said, “Well, I’ll think about it.” And,
“What kind of—?”

“Well, uh-huh, it’s uh,” you know—he’d
never bought much, so he was kinda cute—
looked like a little high school kid. He always
looked young for his age. “Well, it’s—” he’s
tellin’ me all that’s wrong with it, you know.
“The building’s not very good,” and so on and
so on.

I said, “Sure, but it’s right on the state line,
and it’s a key piece for you guys,” and so and
so. “What’ll you give me?”

“Well, I’ll give ya a million and a half.”

And I said, “Oh, that’s ridiculous! No way.”

So, he said, “Well, that’s all I’m authorized.”

I said, “Well, you go back to Harvey,” and
I said, “I don’t want to insult anybody, but,” I
said, “it’s just worth more money than that.”

And he said, “Whad’ya want?”

And I said, “Well, I don’t really know. But,”
I said, “you want me to set a price, I’ll set a
price.”

And, “No, no, that isn’t—we’ll make you
an offer.”

So then he come back—and this goes on
for a year or two or so and so—’’Two and a
half million.”

And, “Oh-.”

“Three—.” And I don’t think I ever quoted
him a price.

And then, finally Bill was still in the
picture. And the price kept goin’ up and up
and up and up and up. And what we really
wanted—I think we had it appraised at three
million dollars. And so my guys actually
were ready to sell it for three million. And I
said, “Poohy! I don’t care about appraisal!”
I said, “You just use that when it’s— you’re
tryin’ to buy somethin’, and, you know, you
can get it. But,” I said, “to sell somethin’, and
the appraisal is so much, and you think you
can get more, I’m not hooked on a price; I
think I can get a lot more.” And I said, “I’m
thinkin’ like Harvey—’I gotta have that
piece!

So, okay, I mentally had a figure of five
million five hundred thousand; five million
five hundred thousand, that’s a lot. You know,
that’s more ’n appraised, and it’s worth it to
Harvey; he can get it back in a few years.
So that’s my number, but, you know, you
don’t always want to put it out. So then we’re
goin—Bill and I—and we got Bill up to four
and a half. So they went—they got to tour
and a half, and they sat there for, oh, a year
or so. And I could just figure, every time
I’d go to the Lake, I’d think, “Poor Harvey,
he’s sittin’ there thinking [clenched teeth],
‘Goddammit! ’” [ Laughter]

So finally Bill come in, and I was about
ready to sell it for five, but, you know, what
the heck?—and we needed the money at the
time. We had a lot of loans. We needed the
money. And so Bill come in with the five, and
I said, “Naw, naw. Five and a half—that’s the

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141

price.” So he knew, it would’ve been a big thing
in his life if he could’ve made that deal.

He went out. So then it sat for about six
months, and then Harvey called me up, ’n
which Harvey never calls me up [chuckles].
And Harvey—”Hi, Bill, ol’ buddy!” (you
know) “This is Harvey Gross.”

“Oh, hi Harvey, of buddy!” [Laughter]

“Can I come and see you?” He said, “I
want to talk to you about that property.”
He said, “Bill’s been talkin’ to ya,” and he
said, “I’ve always said it’s not good—”he
said, “I made a mistake there. It’s not good
to send somebody to do your own job.” He
said, “You and I have always gotten along
fine.” He said, “I think we can straighten
this out.”

So Harvey came down. Harvey was a rich
man then, and he still is, of course. So I’m
thinkin’, you know, “How do I work this?”
And I’d’ve sold it for five, but I thought, “Well,
I we— we needed the money; we needed it
pretty bad.

Harvey come in—”Hi, how are ya? How’s
your wife? How’s your this, how’s your that?”
[Laughing] You know—twenty minutes
worth! “Oh! About that property up there—.”
And you know—’’Bill, that’s a lotta money! It
appraised at three million, two—. We offered
you five, and,” this and that. And he said, “Isn’t
there some way we can get together? You want
five and a half.”

And I said, “Yeah, I think there’s a way,
Harvey.”

He said, “What is it, what is it?”

I said, “Let’s split the difference.”

And he said, “Okay!” [extends hand]
[Laughter]

So then he went back, and we heard
it all over the hill about—’’Goddamn that
Ledbetter! lie’s down there talkin’ and on and
on and this and that,” and he said, “I’m down
there twenty minutes—I make a deal,” you

know, [laughter] which poor Bill—nobody
ever worked harder than Bill did.

But anyway, now we got five, two-fifty
cash, which was pretty nice—or mostly cash.
And we needed it. And it was a good deal for
everybody. But deals are fine—I mean, most
of’em [chuckles].

But then we built the South Shore Room,
which opened in December of’59, just before
1960. And of course, that opened—had it
tough at first; but we did have our big room,
and we concentrated on our stars. And we
opened for the Winter Olympics, which was a
mistake because the Winter Olympics were at
the other end of the Lake; plus the visitors to
the Olympics and the athletes were all pooped
out at night and eight o’clock, it was over. So
that was a big mistake.

And then Harvey had hotel rooms, and
Sahara came along— they had hotel rooms.
But what money we had, we put into other
things, which I think we did it right. And
we—”Oh, you should have rooms,” but we
had the wonderful shows. And we had good
acts and we had pretty good food (good as
anybody, I guess), and we just didn’t have the
money for the hotel. Like Harvey built a hotel
in about six months, and it was just a bum
hotel. You build a hotel that fast, and it was
just another hotel, just a “Holiday Inn” type
thing.

Then my former wife, Scherry, and I had
thought about it for years, if we ever built a
hotel, how we’d build it; and every place we
ever went that was a nice hotel, we copied
it— every idea. And I had a file—hotel ideas.
And like the two bathrooms—that was our
idea, and just a million things that we saw
was good. We’d measure the size of rooms,
and we’d measure the bed, and we’d measure
this, and it all went into the file.

So then when we were ready to build
a hotel, why, we knew what we wanted.

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William F. Harrah

And we got it, and of course, there was no
compromise there; I’m real proud of that
cause that was a little difficult because we
do have people in our management and on
the board and all that are the ROI—return
on investment—’’will you do it that way,”
and you know, and which Harrah’s can’t run
on ROI ’cause we’d lose all of the qualities
that have made us as good as we are because
our service would go down, our cleanliness
would go down, our everything would go
down. And you can’t, so you have to put that
out of your mind. It’s very difficult; it’s one
of the most difficult things I have right now
is to keep up the standard and just—I’d say,
“The hell with the of ROI!” I mean it’s a good
idea or it isn’t, and poohy, you know. It costs
a little more; with the two bathrooms and all,
a hundred thousand dollars a room for those
rooms. And of course, it 11 take a while for
’em to pay. But also, at fifty to sixty dollars a
day, the rooms are all full all the time, which
is something—plus the word of mouth we get
and the write-ups we get, so I think it was a
good one. I’m proud of that hotel.

And somethin’ I heard the other day
that made me feel real good, Frank Sinatra,
who is a good friend of ours, and people are
surprised he works ’cause he’s got a lot of
money, you know; he doesn’t have to work
much. But we’re friends, plus he gets paid
good, of course, but we also fly him around in
our airplanes. I’m proud that he works for us.
And he’s been everywhere, and he’s without
any question (and I may try to use it, I don’t
know)—he says, “That hotel is the best hotel
in the world.” And it really is. We may not have
as many restaurants as some, but as far as the
rooms are concerned, and—I’ve been, not all
over the world but all the leading countries
of the world, New York or London or Paris or
Hong Kong or wherever—and there’s nothin’
even close, not even close.

I’m real proud of that; there’s just nothing
even—the Mandarin at Hong Kong and all,
and that’s a nice hotel, and they have excellent
standards (course, their help is cheaper over
there), but the rooms aren’t just designed as
good. And, of course, they don’t have the two
bathrooms and the—on and on.

Plus our room service. It’s always bugged
me, you order breakfast—and it’s still true—
I’ll order breakfast, and then, well, I can take
a shower, I can shave, or I can get dressed,
and it’s not gonna be here; I know darn well
it isn’t. But it might be here. So I sit around
and wait and wait and wait, and the clock’s
goin’ by and I—someplace I want to go, or I
wouldn’t be up—forty minutes to an hour just
about anywhere in the world. And there’s no
reason for it, except there’s nobody seem’ that
it gets there.

So we went real strong, and we set I think
it’s fifteen minutes for breakfast. Fifteen
minutes, that’s right. Fifteen minutes for
breakfast. If it’s any longer than that, the waiter
and the kitchen, everybody has to write a
report why it was longer than fifteen minutes.

And it’s real easy to do, too. First you
have to get the message you want it done.
See, otherwise it’s just— most room service
is secondary to the regular kitchen. So okay,
the waiter isn’t out in the coffee shop, is free;
he can go up, you know. Ours, it’s set up, and
also we have here [in Reno], and then at the
Lake even better. The room service kitchen
isn’t on the floor; like it’s a twenty-four-story
hotel, our room service kitchen is maybe on
the tenth or twelfth floor, so that he doesn’t
have to go but a couple of floors. And then
there’s an elevator that’s only for room service.
Otherwise the guy’s got it tied up with the
luggage, and the poor waiter sittin’ there with
the order, and they get no elevator. So they
have to have an elevator. So all those things—
it can be done, and we’ve done it. And people

Harr ah’s Tahoe

143

are just so amazed; they’ll order breakfast,
and zing—the door is ringin’—time you put
it down.

course, there are places like that; you
know, we aren’t the only one. In London,
especially, it—Savoy—that’s kinda where I
learned it. And of course, they have a butler
on every floor (they don’t call him a butler;
they call ’im somethin’ else). But your room,
push the button on the wall for room service
or room waiter—he’s a waiter. You push it
and he’s there—it’s really fun. I usually have
the same suite; I think he’s stationed just a
few steps away. But I’ll push the button, and I
hardly get my hand away, and he’s unlocking
the door, coming in—’’You called, sir?”

I said, “Yes. I would like—” da da da da
da da da da.

Hmmmm [gestures writing]. So he’s gone,
and it’s just around the corner. And you can
see—you can walk by in the hall, and you can
see the table set up in there and all, you know.
So the table’s already set, and the o.j., and the
so and so, and so and so; and he’s back in ten
minutes, unless it’s maybe a dinner. Well, then
like the steaks or something have to come out
of the main dining room. But like for breakfast
or lunch—well, mostly breakfast—they have
the whole thing right there, and t-t-t-t-t and
here it is, so why not?— you know. Why not
please people? And it’s no harder, makes it
better for everybody. We sure get lots of letters
on it, though.

And then the two bathrooms, too—plus
being nice. It’s so many times that we’re
runnin’ late, you know, and like Verna and
I, we love two bathrooms. Wherever we go,
we order two rooms connecting if we can.
Sometimes you can’t get it, so now we have
a procedure which we’ve worked out, which
works real good. Like I’ll get up first ’cause
I always wake up first. And I’ll tiptoe in the
bathroom and shower and shave and put my

socks and shorts on and come out, and like
breakfast we order the night before—seven
o’clock. By then breakfast’s arrived, and I’m
all through with the bathroom. And we have
our breakfast, and then she wants to go in the
bathroom, it’s all hers, and all I have to do is
get dressed. So, you know, you can work it
out.

But the beauty of it—everybody doesn’t
plan that way, and most people are running
late, right? Like you come up, you’re goin’
to the Lake, and you’re drivin’ up from San
Francisco. And you get in Marysville or
Placerville. And the roadblock and all, and
the truck and all, and so and so. You get
there, and you want to be in the show at seven
o’clock. Well, you don’t get there till five-thirty
or something, and this and that, you know.
And so what do you do? And plus, the guy
usually is the player, not the wife; she’s maybe
slots. But the guy—and I’m talkin’ about the
gambling business—so he has to wait for her,
he has to get in and all this. But he has his own
bathroom; she has her own bathroom, so she
can go in and do her hair and she can fumble
around as long as she wants. And he can rush
in and take a shower and z-z-z-z [gesture
shaving]—’’Honey, I’m goin’ down to see if
our reservation—” or, you know, maybe he’ll
say, “I’m goin’ down to play. And I’ll see ya
in—.” So, instead of him being hung up there
waitin’ for his wife to get out of the bathroom,
he’s downstairs shootin Craps. So in the long
run it’s gotta work out. Plus he’s much happier;
she’s happier [chuckles].

’cause everybody’s always late, ’cause
things take longer, and you know—I’m usually
on time, but I leave earlier than necessary just
because of the unforeseen things that—I have
a horror of being late.

And there’s a story I like to tell. Captain
Whittell—I mentioned him before, didn’t

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William F. Harrah

I? Did I mention when Lloyd [Dyer] and I
went down to see him, and we were always
on time?

Well, we went down to see ’im, oh—Lloyd
and I must’ve gone down to see him, oh, six
or eight times, and then I went on my own six
or eight times to Woodside. And I just liked
him; I was tryin to buy some property at the
Lake, but also it was fun. You know, what the
heck, an afternoon with George Whittell is
well worth it, you know. And he always had
story after story after story. I remember ’em
all—and cars and planes and real estate and
people and on and on. But I liked to be on
time. He never told me but he told Lloyd. And
we would get there, and our appointment’s
two o’clock, and we’d get there maybe a quarter
to (and nothing more annoying to me than
somebody early). And of course, Whittell was
a cripple, so he wasn’t doing anything except
sittin’. But it’s still annoying. And so quarter
to, why then we’d drive and there’s a way I
could drive around the corner without bein’
seen. If anybody’s lookin’, they couldn’t see us
from the property just in case somebody was
lookin’ out the window. So we’d park around
the corner until it was one minute of two, and
we knew exactly. And so we would drive up,
and we would drive up in front exactly at two
o’clock to the second! [Laughs] And he never
knew how we did it. He thought, “Well,” you
know, “it’s nice to be on time, but how can
you—you know, and you have to rent a car
and get on the freeway and all this stuff—how
can you get here exactly at two?”

So finally he asked Lloyd. He said, “How
can you guys get—” [laughs]

And Lloyd laughed; he said, “Well,
didn’t you know we sit around the corner?!”
[Laughter]

And Whittell thought that was the cutest
thing! He said “Don’t ever do that!” He said,
“Sit out in front if you gotta sit” [laughs].

You were talking about how people are always
late.

Oh, that was for the reason for the
bathrooms and all. Well, it’s nice anyway,
but it pays off really. I don’t know exactly
dollar for dollar, but plus the public relations
and family relations, it’s gonna pay off. And
just the letters, on and on and on. And then
friends stay there, and they— “Oh!” and I
love it when they don’t know it. Like I had
the Schusters, who is the son—I think I
mentioned him before— son of the man
[that] drove the Thomas, and they were here
last week or so. And she’d never been out here,
and he hadn’t been out here since he first
came out with his father to identify the car,
which embarrassed me, so I invited ’em out.
And they came out and stayed a week. And
they [were] here and there and everywhere.
So then we showed ’em, and we went to the
show with ’em and had ’em to dinner and so
on.

So then they were goin to the Lake, and
I didn’t tell ’em a thing about it. And then we
didn’t see ’em afterwards because we had to
leave. So we had dinner, then we had lunch
with ’em out there. And then we said, “Good¬
bye,” and “we’ll see you at the Lake, and you’ll
see” so and so and so and so.

So then we got a little “thank-you.” They
went to see his sister or something in New
Mexico, I think, on their way home. And we
got a card from there, and she said, “You’re
gonna get a big long thank-you letter later,
but this is just a little card,” and she—so and
so and so and so, “but the two bathrooms at
the Lake were unbelievable!” And of course,
they didn’t know it to walk in, and so they
thought, “Well, this must be the finest suite
here.

And then the bellman said, “No, no, this
is our standard room.” [Laughter]

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Stars at Tahoe

We had entertainment at the Lake, which
we didn’t have in Reno. The Gateway Club did
have some entertainment. And all the places
up there had it, and they were what today wed
call “lounge groups”—except for the Stateline
Country Club, which was a true nightclub,
with dancing, floor show, everything but the
stage lounge.

Well, then, in our place we put in a small
stage; we didn’t have too much room. We
put in the small stage, and then a nightclub
that seated around two hundred and fifty,
I think—three hundred—and started with
entertainment. Where across the street was
the big names, we just had the smaller names.
Like across the street, I remember, they had
the Ames Brothers, which was a big name.
And we had this and that— the Goofers, that
sort of act. But it was quite successful, and it
brought people in. We liked it.

But then Louis Prima came along, and
somehow we got him. And he was very
popular. Louis Prima, Keely Smith, Sam
Butera and The Witnesses was the group.
And they pulled people from all over the
Lake—pulled people up from Reno. So
they didn’t come on till midnight. And they
did three shows a night; so they did one at
midnight and say one at two-thirty in the
morning, and just absolutely packed the place.
I went around a few times, say at two in the
morning, and our casino at South Tahoe was
full of people. And the bar was full, of course,
because they appeared by the bar. And the
whole place would be jumping. And the rest
of the places around the Lake were deserted.
It was—he was a tremendous draw. And
his salary kept going up, and we went right
along with it because we were doing so good.
And I remember he was five thousand and
six thousand, and finally we paid him ten

thousand dollars a week, which was unheard
of for a lounge group. I think the biggest of
big names then got twenty-five thousand a
week, and that was super big. Dennis Day, I
remember, at the Riverside, got twenty-five
thousand, which was—. But anyway, Mert
Wertheimer (and I think I was living at the
Riverside at the time), he was an ornery old
guy. He was tryin’ to get Louis Prima to work
for him, and Louis was real happy with us.
And finally he came to me, and he said, “Are
you out of your mind? Payin’ a lounge group
ten thousand dollars a week!”

And I said, “No, he’s bringin’ it in.” Plus
(which I don’t mind going on the record)
that Mert was from Detroit, and he’d been
around pretty good. And he would get on me
about all of our stars. “Why are you paying
that man fifteen thousand dollars a week?
He’s only worth eight.” And Mert would pay
him eight, and he would give the stars seven
thousand dollars under the table, which was
kinda common in the old nightclub days, I
guess. But anyway, that was Mert’s way.

And it was so irritating ’cause I didn’t
want to say, “You’re payin’ ’em under the
table.” But he would catch me going through
the lobby, and he’d give me a fifteen-minute
lecture on the evils of paying fifteen thousand
for a fifteen-thousand-dollar act when he
supposedly could get it for eight, only he really
couldn’t. And I just couldn’t bring myself to
come out and say, “You’re payin’ under the
table.” But I would politely listen and then
go about and do my own business. But it was
sure irritating.

Then at least Louis Prima gave me a taste
of the power of good entertainment, which
an example is Frank Sinatra today. Just people
will jam in to see him, and they have money
and they come. It’s just wonderful.

By summer, the South Shore Room was
becoming established. And we could see the

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William F. Harrah

stars were so important. That was it. You had
a big star, the people came in; you had a bum
star, they didn’t. So we went after the big
ones and didn’t want to pay any more than
we had to. Then part of it has become our
reputation. Our policy is treating the stars
extra-nice, and I guess that’s my philosophy,
that they are our guests; they’re doin’ us a
favor. Like any big star doesn’t have to work
for us; they can work for the Sahara, or they
can work for Harvey, or they can work for Del
Webb or somebody. They’re doin’ us a favor
by working. And most of them, they’re really
big or independently wealthy; they don’t even
have to work, plus the fact they just seem like
good business plus I guess sometimes I am a
nice person, and I put myself in the position
of being a star. And I don’t want to worry
about anything; I want to go, I don’t want to
have to make a reservation. I would want a
nice suite or a nice house on the Lake for me,
which they get. And there’s help to run the
house or the suite; there’s plenty of help to take
care of whatever. And then a car to drive, a
Rolls Royce or—we learned the Rolls Royce is
kinda “show business,” anyway. Some people
don’t want a Rolls Royce. About one out of
ten, they want a Seville or something, which
of course, they can have. And transportation
up—like we’ll send one of our jets to pick ’em
up—and their family—and take ’em home
after the engagement. And we don’t charge ’em
for anything—food or lodging or anything—
except maybe

At first we didn’t charge for anything, but
we learned that was a big mistake, as we had
Marlene Dietrich, and she called everybody
all over the world. And her telephone bill was
unbelievable, and so the second time around
we told her that was over, that we’d stopped
that policy, which we had. And she paid no
attention and still called all over the world.
And our operators didn’t have nerve enough,

which you can’t blame them for not allowing
a call to go through. I think Marlene Dietrich
still owes us nine hundred dollars or somethin’.
But we do supply everything except things like
that phone. A lot of stars do, do a lot of calling
for business and other purposes. That’s about
the only thing we don’t pay for, which has paid
off because some of the stars—.

Some of the places pay more than we do,
and sometimes they’ll steal one of our stars,
but the star never leaves without telling us.
Then if they are offered more—like Red
Skelton is a good friend of mine. I was the best
man at his wedding. He opened our room at
Tahoe. We’re just real good friends. And he
worked for us here and Tahoe, and then John
Ascuaga got after him and offered him so
much—and it was more than we pay a man of
Red’s drawing ability. He draws so much; he’s
not Frank Sinatra. He’s down here [gesture] a
little ways, and so he just wasn’t worth that to
us. And he’d go in every place; I go see him, da
da da, “How are you?” And quite often he’ll
have dinner with me in my home. It is kinda
fun because I have dinner with all the stars.
Red works for John Ascuaga, but he comes to
Reno, he has dinner with me. We’ve lost a few
that way, but, you know, a thing’s worth what
it’s worth. And it’s real easy to tell with a star,
just—first show, you can tell what you got.

But the show business end of it was a big
new facet for us because of the pride. It had
been Bingo, and then casino games and slot
machines, and then into show business, which
was really very educational and a lot of fun.

Which ones do you (besides Red Skelton)
especially get along with? You’ve mentioned
Frank Sinatra as being a good drawing card a
number of times.

Well, Frank’s okay. We’re good friends,
and he’s been super nice to us. And I’ll defend

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147

Frank. I think that he’s hot tempered and
abuses his temper once in a while, but not too
often, no more than a lot of people. But quite
often it’s people that pick on Frank, and many
newspapers, and he takes so much, and then
he stands up and yells. Our experience with
Frank—I guess he’s worked for us for five or
six or eight times now—just a super nice fella,
but he wants everything exactly so. Which I
could identify with that, ’cause that’s the way I
like things—exactly so. And with Frank, we—
we do that with everybody, but we make extra
caution to be sure that everything is right, that
the hotel suite is right and the temperature of
this and that, microphones, and the orchestra,
and so-and-so and so-and-so and so-and-so
and so-and so. So Frank—and he just loves
it! He doesn’t have to yell, he doesn’t have to
scream; he comes in and—or like our G-2
picks him up somewhere and brings him in.
The G-2’s in perfect condition, and the Rolls
Royce or Lincoln is in perfect condition. And
he gets to his suite, and it’s exactly the way
it should be. And he goes on stage, and the
microphone, everything, is just so-so-so-so,
and it’s his kind of thing. So he’s happy to work
for us, and we just get along fine. And we pay
him much less than he’s offered elsewhere, and
he’s happy with us and because we do things
the way he wants them done.

I’ll repeat what I said: tie’s a little hot
tempered (although I’ve never seen his
temper), but I think looking back—and then
whatever things have happened since I’ve
known him—like the Australia thing down
there, when he was down there (was in our
plane down there) , and they got on him
pretty good down there. And he did make
one remark that wasn’t taken too well, but the
press were really buggin him at the time, and I
think any normal person would’ve reacted the
same way. They were just insisting on this and
that, and insisting on interviews right now

before he could even get off after a eighteen-
hour trip, or sixteen-, or whatever it is, to get
to get there. And you’re tired, and dirty and
wrinkled and all, and they demanded instant
interviews. Boy! I’d take a little time and—you
know. So I’ll defend Frank. And sometimes
he’s wrong, but so far nine times out of ten—.
And he was dead wrong on that thing at Cal-
Neva and all that A That was wrong; the rules
were clearly spelled out. And there’s certain
kinds of people he couldn’t have around,
and he had ’em around. Well, he was wrong,
Frank’s okay.

But all of our stars I know, and know quite
well. We have a regular policy where we have a
dinner with them at their convenience; there’s
no “musts.” I see the opening show, unless
it’s a complicated show; then I probably go
the second night. Then I go down—”How
do you do? Glad you’re with us.” Then the
entertainment department feels them out on
a dinner. Usually they will accept, and bring
their wife or husband and their kids if they
want to, and we have a nice dinner in Reno
at my home or at Tahoe at the Villa, which is
built for that purpose. And it’s amazing how
(it’s happened I guess hundreds of times by
now) the star will come in, and I will dread it;
and I’ll tell Verna, “Gee, I hate to go up there
tonight.”

And she said, “Boy do I! But we got to.”
And then you go up and they come in—and
I’m sure they feel the same way. But you sit
and have a drink and look at each other for
two hours and tell stories back and forth and
problems you’ve had in your life and the fun
you’ve had, and Europe, and old cars, and new

*This refers to Sinatra’s having lost his
Nevada gaming license for entertaining a
“Black Book” character at his casino, Cal-
Neva.

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William F. Harrah

cars, and airplanes, and Australia, on and on.
And when you part, why, everyone seems to
have had an excellent time; I know I always
do, have a wonderful time. Then afterwards I
think, “Why did I not want to do that? That
was fun!”—you know. You get so much inside
stuff, you know.

Another real good friend is Don Rickies,
and his good friend is Bob Newhart. But
Bob Newhart—that’s an excellent example.
He’s an extremely funny man; his wife is
just wonderful. And they’re very close
friends with Don Rickies and his wife,
which you’d be surprised, they’ve been all
over the world together. To get all them
together and all, and back and forth; and
it’s just—it’s fun.

I remember Don Rickies is—you’ve heard
his reputation of insulting and all that. And
he’s insulting; in fact, his act sometimes a little
rougher than we like. But he really— and at
the end of his act he says, “Oh, we should all
love each other,” and da-da-da-da-da. But
Don is really a likable fella when he’s not on
stage, although he’s on stage all the time; he
talks all the time. But he’s very funny. And I
remember when I first met him, which was
really funny. I was going to a tailor in Beverly
Hills. This man had a men’s shop, and in the
back was a tailor shop, and when you were in
the tailor shop being fitted, you could see out
the front to the regular shop, which is normal.
So I was there one day, and I was finishing
up. I knew he took care of Don Rickies, too.
I was scared to meet Don, ’cause I heard he
was insulting, so I never went to see his show
anywhere. And I just didn’t, I thought, “I don’t
want to be insulted,” and so I didn’t. Well, in
walked Don, and he had the fitting right after
me. And so I thought, “Oh, God, there’s Don
Rickies,” And so I finished what I had to do,
all I was doin’, standin’ there. So they finished
the suit on me.

So then the tailor introduced me. He said,
“Mr. Rickies” da da da. So Don was awfully
nice.

So “Mr. Harrah, it’s a pleasure.”

And I thought, “Oh, brother,” you know,
“when do the things start?” So I left, and I went
down the street to get my car, and I’d forgotten
my briefcase. So I thought, “Oh, my God, I have
to go backthere.” And I was gonna actually leave
my briefcase, as I didn’t want to go back, I was
so scared. But, “Well, I have to” ’cause I needed
it for the next place. So I just went back, and I
walked in, and here the tailor is fitting Don.

And Don’s really goin’ like this [waving
arms]. And I guess someone had said, “Bill
Harrah’s a millionaire,” ’cause Don’s answer
when I walked in was “What do you mean Bill
Harrah’s a millionaire? He’s a multimillionaire
if there ever was one! Really!” And you know,
“And one of the sweetest men in the world,
and he knows how to treat his—” oh, just went
on and on and on. And his back was to me,
he’s doin’ all this, you know.

So then I went like this [claps hands
and laughs], and he turned around; he was
embarrassed, which I never thought I’d—!
And he said, “Well, I mean it! I mean it!”

And I said, “Boy, that’s really super!” So
we’re good friends. We get along okay. He has
a real neat wife and two kids, and they’re—he’s
just a guy, that’s how he makes his livin’—he
insults people. But he really is a nice man.

You’ve had a few that you didn’t like so well I
suspect.

Well, Marlene Dietrich charged those.

Seems to rue that Ethel Merman didn’t do too
well.

No. No, she did terrible business. And
that disappointed me ’cause we tried to make

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149

a deal, and—which any star, or Id say—nine
hundred and ninety-nine times out of a
thousand the manager and-or the star will say,
“See, since were not doin’ it, can we,” [gesture,
erasing] you know, “do somethin’?” And so
we went to them; they didn’t do a thing. Fifty
people, or somethin’—just terrible.

And went to them—’’What can we do?”

And “nothin’.”

And we said, “Well, can’t we call it off?”

“No.”

“Well, can we cut the money down?” (And
she was top number at the time.)

“Oh, no, we want the money.

So then that irritated me ’cause they
wouldn’t compromise an inch. So we closed
her out and paid—we had to pay her, of
course. But we just closed the show, ’cause it
was just zero. That’s, I think, the only show
we ever closed. Maybe we might’ve closed not
that big of name but—. I was an admirer of
hers ’cause she’s done so many great shows and
all, but apparently word hadn’t got around to
west coast or something. And then her show
wasn’t too good; it was a lot of old stuff, nothin’
new. It just wasn’t a very good show.

Lawrence Welk makes it pretty well on old stuff.

Yeah, well, his music is good; plus every
show there’s a new number just written last
week. He’s a smart man. He keeps right on
top. A lot of people needle him, but, I think
down in their—well, it s 50 funny, a lot of
people—’’You know Lawrence Welk? You
know da da da?”

And maybe, “Yeah, awful! I’d never listen
to his show.” And then the next breath, they’ll
say, “Well, last week so-and-so when they did
this and that—.” So they do watch his show.
They don’t think it’s “cool” to watch Lawrence
Welk. He’s a great musician, I guess; plus,
a showman. And he juggles the—I watch

his show every week just because I—well, I
know all the stars now on a first name basis,
as I think sixteen years they’ve been coming
up there, and a lot of the originals are there.
So you know, sixteen times you get to know
people pretty good maybe. But we always have
a dinner for ’em.

But he also, like some of ’em aren’t too
good, he puts em down a little; he don’t fire
’em. And here comes a new star, you know;
so he keeps—he does it real good.

Seems to me he really packs them in for you
about as much as anybody, doesn’t he?

Yeah, he does. We have guys in our
organization that just don’t think Lawrence
is too cool, but he fills the room. You know,
maybe one second show, instead of nine
hundred there might be eight hundred or
something, but it’s real good. And he doesn’t
get as much as some where he gets paid pretty
good, but it’s—. And of course, there’s a lot of
expense with it; those forty people, and we
have a lot of—. But we still just do fine. And
it’s a crowd pleaser, and this certain class of
people that just loves Lawrence Welk. They
come up—and they’re not all little old ladies
with tennis shoes; there’s some good ones. It’s
fine. We’re real happy with it.

Every year we have a dinner, and they’re all
there. In fact, the room where we have dinner
was built for him when we built the place. And
they said, “How big do you want the room?”
And he has forty. And I said, “Well, Lawrence
Welk has forty; and all the gals and guys are
married or got boys and girlfriends, so that’s
eighty; plus some Harrah’s people, plus some
Welk executives, is a hundred people,” which
is exactly right. And so we fill the room every
year.

We get done, and Lawrence Welk makes
a little speech, how happy he is to be back

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William F. Harrah

again. And I make a little speech that I’m so
happy that they’re back and that we’re friends
sixteen years. And then I always say at the
end that they’re renewed for next year, which
they—’’Olay!” But I don’t know what will
happen if and when they’re not. But they’re
goin’ so good. And although Welk’s seventy-
three, I think they’ll at least last his lifetime.
And then when he’s gone, of course, it’ll be
a new ball game. I don’t think it’ll work any
more. He’s got some super stars, though.

Like he has that new (well, not new; he’s
been there about five years now)—that young
coronet, I call it, that trumpeter (whatever it
is)—does super solos. (I think his last name
begins with a z, like Zill or Ziss, or something.)
Big, heavy, but he’s very young; he’s in his
twenties, and plays the most beautiful I ever
heard. He always has a solo on the show lately;
he’s just the last five years. But [Welk] hasn’t
fired anybody; he moves ’em around a little
bit. (I think it’s Zill is his name.)

Are you really good friends with Sammy Davis?

[Sammy Davis is] good—real good friend
for years. I admire him tremendously. And
he started, you know—no education, nothin’,
and just—he did it himself. And he has a
vocabulary a lot bigger than some of your
university people. And he knows the meaning
and pronounces it just—I feel like a tongue-
tied oaf around Sammy. And it’s not show-off
with him; it’s just something, he wanted to
learn the words, and he’s learned them. And
of course, he’s a super entertainer and singer
and dancer. The story I like to tell on him is,
he can do any thing— play the xylophone—.

And he’s a car freak. And we must have
sold him or given him twenty or thirty cars,
most of which he bought, but we gave him
one or two. He always wants the very latest
thing. And he can’t shift gears. He has to have

an automatic transmission, which I just can’t
believe, because he can do anything! Person
can play the drums or something; all you have
to do to shift gears is move your arm and move
your leg and push the clutch in And he can’t
do it! No way!

So one year we gave him a Duesenberg,
a replica Duesenberg. It looks exactly like a
1935 Duesenberg Speedster. And it’s done
very well; this firm in L.A. makes them.
They’re quite expensive; they look exactly like
a ’35 Duesenberg, but they have a Chrysler
engine and an automatic transmission.

So we took it to the Lake—we got Sammy
one and took it to the Lake and had a license
plate “Sammy” put on it. Had it parked out
in back. And then I went to the show, and it
was a surprise. He had a Maserati; he wanted
a Ferrari but you couldn’t get a Ferrari with a
automatic transmission. So he got a Maserati,
which you can get with an automatic. So he
sent his Maserati up ’cause it was—they’re
not too good a car, really, ’cause—(‘course, I
sell Ferraris, so I can knock ’em a little bit).
They’re not really too good and then his was
run down; it needed paint and this and that.
So we told Sammy, “Okay, we’ll pick up your
Maserati, and then when you come up in June,
you can get it.”

“Okay, fine.”

Which we did. We got his Maserati, and
we cleaned it up and painted it and all. But
we used that as an excuse to give Sammy the
Duesenberg ’cause we didn’t want to pull it on
stage. That was a little too much. But we had
the Duesenberg parked out in back. And of
course, he got up there, and he said, “Where’s
my Maserati?” The Duesenberg wasn’t there
for about a week; so we had to stall him, which
he got real suspicious because we always did
everything exactly right. And “Where’s my
Maserati?”

“Well, the paint isn’t done yet.”

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151

“Well, you’ve had it for two months.”
And the way we—you know, he couldn’t
understand why we didn’t have it painted.
And so we had some story where this painter
had got drunk, and he’d mixed the wrong
paint, and we’d fired him; oh, we had a good
story!

He wanted his Maserati, he wanted his
Maserati, he wanted his Maserati. And so
finally then we got the Duesenberg up there.
And then I went to the show. And so I—big
grin—”Gee, Sammy, that was a wonderful
show,” da da da. And sit down; everybody
meets everybody. And then I said, “Oh, hey!
Come here, I want to show you somethin’.”
And I started to lead him out.

And he said, “Wh-where are we goin’?”

I said, “Well, I want to take you out in back
and show you your Maserati.”

And he said, “See my Maserati? I’ve seen
it! I—” you know. He didn’t want to go.

I said, “Oh, come on.”

And he said, “No, no—.”

I said, “Well, gee whiz, Sammy. We really
put a super have a lot of fun. They’re good
people, real good people— real good.

[Jim Nabors is] a good friend. We go to
Indianapolis every year—Jim Nabors and I,
and his manager. And that just came about—I
have gone to the Indianapolis race for, well,
since ’56—twenty years. And I’ll get the same
seats and everything, and the same—I stay at
the Speedway Motel because I was a pretty
good friend of Tony Hulman because I am
such a car freak. They would have a star every
year (they still have a lot of stars around there)
, but they would have a star sing “Back Home
in Indiana” just before the race. Every year it
was a different star. So one year they invited
Jim Nabors. And Jim was working for us, so
I knew about it, and so I said, “Well, hey! We
got our plane. Why don’t you ride back with
us?”—which he did, Jim and his manager,

and my gang. And we went back, and we had
a wonderful time. And Jim and I stay at the
Speedway Motel. That’s very difficult to get in
’cause there’s only two hundred rooms, so the
race drivers and car owners stay there. And
it’s so handy ’cause the day of the race you just
get out of your room and walk over and watch
the race, or otherwise you have to get a cab
or a limo or a whatever—a bus— and come
from downtown. And we were good friends
with Jim, anyway, so it just worked so good.

And Jim sat with us in the stand. Then
just before that, why, he went down—excused
himself and went down—and sang “Back
Home in Indiana” for four hundred thousand
people, which I thought—I said, “How can
you do that?” You know, just that I’d die in
my—. And sang it beautifully. Then he came
back and watched the race, so it worked good.
So I said, “Hey, that was fun! Let’s do it again
next year.”

And they always changed, so Jim’s
manager approached the Speedway people
and said, “Well, Jim and we are good friends
of Harrah, and we ride back in his plane. It
works out real good, and Jim loves doin’ it,
and we’ll do it again next year,” (and I guess
the money was nothing) “if you want us to.”

And they said, “Gee, that’s fine.” So it’s
been about five years now, or six years. We all
go back on a regular routine. We know exactly
what’s gonna—have the same chauffeur, and
the whole thing. And Jim’s goin’ back again
this year with us. He’s a real nice guy.

He invited me—Verna and I—down to
the Mardi Gras one year in New Orleans.
He was the king of the Mardi Gras one year,
and then the following year he went back.
He has some good friends, so—. People from
that area, they have a nice penthouse down
there. We stayed at a hotel, but we went to
the penthouse, and the parade goes right by
and that goes all day.

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William F. Harrah

It was fun. It was the way to go to the
Mardi Gras if you have to go. Jim goes every
year, but once was enough for us. It’s, you
know—everybody’s kinda drunk; and it’s fun,
but it’s just—.

Jim is a real generous fella. He had a
party for me about three years ago. And he
kept it a secret; it leaked out beforehand,
but he worked on it real—he works—he gets
interested in somethin’—he just works his
fanny off. It was in December when at that
time our room was closed, and he picked
December because he figured nobody’d be
working. He invited every single star that
had ever appeared at Harrah’s, and most of
’em showed up. There were a hundred people
or so at the party at his home in Beverly Hills
or that area. We have some pictures; just you
name—Sammy Davis was there, and Carol
Burnett was there, and just on and on. They
were all there, and that was very flattering. The
way it started out, it was just “Come down and
have dinner with me in December.”

And “Okay, fine.” And then, “Well,” I
said, “well, next time I’m down.” Well, no, he
wanted me to come in December. “Okay, I’ll
come.” Well, he had a new house. Okay, that’s
a good reason.

But then it was set for Saturday, such and
such. And then somethin’ came up, and I said,
“Well, I want to change it to Friday.”

“No, no, no!” ’cause all these others—and
there were people that were, you know—
actually came out from Texas; they were
working and came out for the one day just to
show up, so he insisted it was that day.

And I—’’Okay.” And then we talked; and
course, my entertainment director—our
entertainment director—was in on the thing
with Jim. So I said, “Well, how come?” you
know, “What’s the difference—one day?”

And he said, “Well, gee, you know how Jim
is. And he’s worked on—his mother’s worked,

and they just got it all set for this day, and we
really should go, Bill. We really should.”

And I—’’Okay, okay.”

But anyway, it was a fun party.

Government and Other Problems
at Tahoe

Would you discuss problems with the
environmentalists at the Lake ?

Well, we didn’t do it the way we did it
because of the TRPA or anything; we did it
because that’s the way we like to do things—to
do them nicely. What was the name of that
first organization up there? [The Lake Tahoe
Area Council] I was in that. I was a member
of that. I went to the meetings, and I was quite
active. I remember I went to a lot of meetings,
and I went along—they had some pretty good
thinking, or I thought they did, and when I
didn’t agree with them, I told ’em. And the
reason I got off of it, it just took more time
than I could spare. And I’m sure we kept our
membership, and we had someone on there.
But I had respect for that. And of course, later,
it got turned around, and I’ve almost lost track
of how many organizations there are up there
and who’s pullin’ which way and all that. I
really don’t bug myself with it.

We don’t believe the Lake should remain
like it was in 1910, and we believe in orderly
development, but we sure don’t believe in a
hundred million condominiums around the
Lake where every inch—and you can’t even
see the water. That’s ridiculous. It should be
developed properly. I think the Lake is not
nearly as bad as people represent, or some
people represent it to be. I’m quite familiar
with the Lake, south end, of course, but I go
to the north end periodically. And we have
boats, and we go around the Lake several
times a year. I deliberately will—at least once

Harr ah’s Tahoe

153

I go around and look at it just close offshore.
Then when we have guests, why, we’ll do it
again if they’re interested. So I do see the
Lake a lot, and I’m not ashamed of it. The
only thing I don’t like about the Lake is the
kinda hodgepodge development at Stateline
in California, which they want to blame on
the casinos, which of course, if the casinos
hadn’t been there, all those little motels
wouldn’t have popped up. But still California
could’ve—and whether it was the county
or state, that’s their problem—could’ve had
more orderly development there; there’s
no question about that. So anything that’s
ugly at Tahoe is in California, and it’s their
own darn fault. And of course, the casinos
brought people there. So what? And what’s
wrong with goin’ to Tahoe and pullin’ a slot
machine? You can also go water-skiing and
snow-skiing and fishing and skin diving—
why, it has everything. I’m rather proud of
what we’ve done at Tahoe because it could’ve
been about ten times worse or a hundred
times worse.

How do you deal with all of these overlapping
segments of government?

Well, you do what you have to do. The
company’s large enough now that we’re
departmentalized. And like our PR man (and
he should have a whole bunch of titles), at
Lake Tahoe it’s John Giannotti, who’s done
a super job in keeping on top of things and
observing what’s going on. And then we
listen to him—of course, we make our own
decisions—but we listen to him; and then
wherever there’s a problem, why, we delegate
it to whoever should handle it, whether it’s
legal or political or whatever. But we really
watch it up there.

What are Mr. Giannotti s general instructions?

Oh, I don’t really know that. He’s also our
lobbyist, I guess (we don’t like the word, but—).
When the legislature’s in session, he just lives
in Carson City; and the rest of the time he’s at
Tahoe. Very personable man and just right on
top of things, and just super. But the lobbying
and all that kinda goes together, you know.
But he has his ear to the ground, and he’s very
aware of what’s going on in the state and in
the legislature and politically and at Tahoe
and also California. Because we are on the
line, why, we’re very familiar with, like Eugene
Chappie, the assemblyman from that county
up there. And Gene is a fine man. He’s right
straight down the middle, just what’s good for
everybody, course, he has a cross to bear, some
of the things that come out of California, but
he stands right up to them and tells ’em what’s
good for his county. Gene’s a fine man.

Right now he has a bill in the California
legislature to make a single agency responsible
at Tahoe, a single layer of government. Have
you been supporting that?

Oh yeah, of course.

Or did you help him with it?

Oh, I don’t know about that, but I would
speculate that we had. You know he doesn’t
work for us at all. You know [in] your life,
you’ve seen people that j ust identify with you.
You think straight, and they think straight,
too; and Gene’s always been that way—just
super.

I just wondered it you couldn’t begin with the
Lake Tahoe Area Council and characterize
some of the people who were on there.

Well, Joe McDonald to me was “Mr.
Negative.” And I don’t know, I don’t think he

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William F. Harrah

liked gambling too much but, Joe McDonald
to me was just bad news. Well, not that strong,
but just negative. Whenever Joe McDonald
was around or connected with anything,
I knew that Harrah’s wasn’t gonna get any
slaps on the back, cause we really had to
pay attention to what we were doing. And
in the Area Council I was there, and many
meetings, and Joe was leaving Harrah’s out of
it. He was just kind of a negative guy—just
sit there, and a sourpuss, and like he hated
the world, and that the newspaper men
were—which he didn’t say, but he gave me
the impression that they were kind of—a little
higher level than the rest of us or something,
and just bad news.

But Summerfield is entirely different. He
was a wonderful man, and the type that I
like—you can talk—two and two is four, and
four and four is eight, and just go right down
the road, and no big cross to bear or fire to
fight or something.

And of course, Ivan Sack, you and I both
know what a super man he is. Although he
worked for the Forest Service for thirty years,
if he thinks a rule of theirs is wrong, he’ll
speak right up and say so. He is for orderly
development and to especially come out in
Idaho with me; we use him up there on a
retainer basis, and we had to almost chop
his head off to get him to accept the retainer.
And he must make twenty-five cents an
hour for the time he spends up there, and
he’s right straight down the line. We want to
develop something, why here’s how you do
it. And when we’re wrong, he says so. And of
course, we think alike; we like to do things
attractive and beautiful and open space and
not a bunch of horrible yellow signs and
things. So Ivan just believes in the outdoors,
the great outdoors, but he also believes a man
should use it and that it all shouldn’t be just
backwoods. People should be able to drive a

car or ride a horse or do something into the
mountains.

I remember McClatchy was on there
for a short time. And it’s the first time I’ve
mentioned him. I don’t remember which first
name he had; he was quite young, younger than
me, which was fifteen years ago. McClatchy
Newspapers. I think the Sacramento Bee
hadn’t been too friendly to casinos, so I had a
in-built dislike for the name McClatchy. And
then I met him, and it was totally erased. And
he wasn’t puttin’ me on. He hadn’t gone out of
his way to cater to me; he was just a straight
guy. And that was super. That was another
nice thing about, well, any organization you
join or that I’ve ever joined—I find that I
meet people that I wouldn’t otherwise meet,
and my preconceived notions are quite often
totally wrong; so there’s somethin’ good in
organizations.

There was the Nevada-California Interstate
Compact. Some of the Nevada members on that
were Fred Settelmeyer and Hugh Shamberger.

Yeah. Yeah, I knew Fred forever, of
course—Douglas County—I remember was
our Senator for a while. Real classy guy, and I
know his [sister] very well. I’ve been to their
homes. And Fred was a conservative, which
most Douglas Countyites are. But he was all
right. You might have to nudge him a little,
but Fred was—he sure meant well.

Did I ever tell you my story about the
Douglas County Republicans? Well, see,
Douglas County—I don’t know if it still is, but
was the one Republican county in the state.
And that intrigued me, and when I first went
up there, it was quite strong. I think now it’s
about even, or maybe it’s gone, but—. I asked
Mr. [Willard] Park why, and he didn’t know.
And I asked many of ’em—every old-timer
I met, I asked them why Douglas County

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155

was Republican. And I forget—maybe it was
Mr. Park, or it was Settelmeyer. But I asked
him, and Id finally pin him, “Why is Douglas
County Republican?”

And the only answer I ever got that
meant anything at all was “It always has been”
[laughing].

And I would say, “I know, I know, I know!”

You practically support Douglas County. Do
you feel that they treat you right or fairly?

Oh, they did, they did. And then we
were worried about— because the control
is in the lower part of the county. And we
were afraid if and when they got a bunch of
supervisors, when we got two down there,
why, wed have bad news. And we have two
down there, and there is some bad news. And
almost— well, I was gonna say almost like
the federal government—pick, pick, pick.
But it’s not nearly that bad; but compared to
what it was, where it was one of the easiest
counties to get anything done and no big
mess and just do it and go down, and there
was the judge, or there was the county clerk,
and you could go to Minden and get a ton
done in about an hour and a half. And now
everything’s complicated and this and that,
and they want an airport here, or they don’t
want an airport there, and oh boy, on and on
and on, just—. But it’s typical of the country
and the world, just—you know—let’s don’t
keep things simple; let’s complicate it. And
it has changed for the worse, I think. But of
course, Giannotti could answer that [clicks]
like that. It’s a fun county, though.

Well, I remember when we opened up
there and that’s when we weren’t as large as we
are, so I was down there a lot. And we needed
a license or something, I’d go down and get
it, pay em the money. You know, I’ve been
a car guy all my life, and also I like special

license plates, which I had. And the state of
Nevada, when they only had one number,
I finagled around and finally got Number
Eight, which I had for years, which I was
very proud of. And then when they went to
counties I finagled around and got W-8—or
I got W-8 automatically, and I got W-l by a
lot of maneuvering. And in Douglas County
I got VS-B, and DS-1 was held by the county
clerk. And I thought, “Gee, how am I gonna
get that?” But he’d had it since it’d been issued,
and he’d had it before (I forget). So I thought,
“Gee whiz,” (and I wish I could remember his
name).

But he had Number DS-1. He was so super,
and he was a real quiet man, and I didn’t know
how to approach him. But finally I just—like
I guess you should do in life—when you can’t
figure a way, just go do it. So I did. I said, “Gee,
I—DS-1—you’ve had it forever,” da da da da
da.

And he said, “Oh, do you want that?”

And I said, “Oh, you’ll—gee,” da da da.

“Well, here. Here you are.”

And I said, “Well, how—?”

He said, “Oh, I’ve had it for years, and the
only reason I took it was nobody wanted it at
the time. So I just took it.” But he said, “Do
you want—here you are,” just like that.

Maybe you’d like to discuss the special problems
involved in dealing with severe weather up
there.

Well, to keep the people coming, we
started our buses (I think I covered that). So
that took care of the customers. And then
the old highway departments, Nevada and
California, did a super job. So the weather’s
never been a big problem. I know on our
own property we have our own snow removal
equipment (we’ve gone into that). And when
we have had heavy snows, we—which we had

156

William F. Harrah

to learn the hard way, of course—but I think
one year we learned, and now we have trucks
and loaders and all. Occasionally, every few
years, the snow will come faster than you
could—. And we will plow it and load in the
trucks and take it somewhere and dump it,
it’s just no problem any more. It’s fine.

But Douglas County—getting back to the
operating there, it’s very pleasant to operate in
the county only As you know, here we have
the overlap, which is the city, and da-da-da,
dada-da. And when it’s just county, why, you
get your county license and talk to the county
commissioners or the sheriff or whatever, and
that’s it. So it’s—life’s much simpler with—
course, which is pleasant.

You mentioned the sheriff of Douglas County.
They’ve had a lot of problems with their sheriffs.
Has it made a problem in enforcement up there
for you?

No. The only problem we’ve had is having
enough deputies at the right time, which
really hasn’t been too bad. And I think on
occasion, like the Fourth of July up there is
just unbelievable. And I think a year or two
they didn’t have the deputies. Then when
we growled a little, they had them up there.
And now I think we have a setup somehow
where our people, our security people, can
plan ahead with them. And we’re gonna
need forty fellas up here, something, on the
Fourth of July, and Douglas County will
have ten, maybe, or whatever. And then I
think our security is authorized (or can be
authorized) to handle traffic problems up
there occasionally I think we work fine with
them now, and generally, it’s been real good.
Like in the early days, I know, I was up there,
and many times, I would go up—and a lot of
traffic. And I was very pleased to see one or
two deputies up there directing traffic, which

we hadn’t asked for; they were just there. And
that’s when maybe they only had one deputy
up there. So it’s been quite good.

You have a different class of customers at Tahoe
from what you have in Reno, isn’t that right?

Oh, maybe a little—not too much. We
have a lot more bus customers there, which,
of course, are the lower income. And we have
more so-called high rollers. The reason for
that is our hotel is bigger, and our Shore Room
is bigger, and it’s just a more elite operation; so
it—you know—figures. If we had a hotel like
that in Reno, and if we ran the buses to Reno
that we run to Tahoe, why, they’d be identical,
I’d say, probably.

Any of the famous high rollers that you’d like
to describe?

No, not really Of course, our bankroll
got bigger; and then when it gets bigger, you
don’t worry so much. But we’ve had some
big games, win or lose a hundred thousand
dollars, but I don’t remember any offhand
that—outstanding. People come, and they
have streaks, and they will beat you sometimes
for time after time—you wonder what’s goin
on. And there are some players that hardly
ever win that well, they have a self-defeating
attitude. I mean, they know how to play Craps
or whatever. You put the bet there and you
double it down and so on—they know all
of that. But the problem is, they really don’t
know when to quit. They have fifty, they want
a hundred, and they get a hundred, they want
a hundred and fifty. And of course, that just
can’t happen, so—. There aren’t too many of
those, but there are a few that just don’t seem
to ever want to quit.

But I think we have our share of good
customers. We have fewer than most places

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157

because we’ re very restrictive on our credit.
Some places would (and I think some possibly
still do)— will give credit without checking
too closely And we check closely, and if their
credit isn’t good, we just don’t give ’em any
Why waste our time, why waste their time,
and have a whole bunch of markers that
aren’t any good, and people chasm’ around
the country tryin to collect ’em—that’s dumb.
We don’t want to distress anybody, anyway. If
they can’t afford, or they don’t want to bring
the money, why, poohy, they don’t have to
play. If a person doesn’t want to gamble, that’s
fine with us.

And they can come to our show, too, if
they want to; they may not have the best seat
in the house, which is an old-time complaint.
That is kind of a in-house thing, that people
want, like a Frank Sinatra show, which is
very difficult to get in. And the reason it was
difficult to get in, he usually only works a
week. So that’s maybe eighteen hundred seats
a day times seven is twelve thousand-plus
seats a week. And we’ll have almost enough
good customers to fill that. And people that
aren’t players—and they’ll call in and—”Oh, I
called in, and the house was sold out. How do
I get to see Frank Sinatra?” And we have little
things, we’ve passed ’em, that the shows that
are difficult to get in are restricted to our good
customers; we’re in the gambling business.
And I’ve had, why, I actually had—this is a
true story. Once I had a man stop me in the
casino at Tahoe. “Mr. Harrah,” (he wasn’t
drunk, so I listened to him, but he was a little
irate) “and how do I get in to see the show?”

And I said, “Well, did you ask over at
the—.”

“Oh, no, I can’t get in—it’s full.”

And I said, “Well, did you ask the pit
boss?”

And he said, “No. Why?”

And I said, “Well, are you a customer?”

And he said, “Well, I’m here.”

I said, “Well, no, do you play?”

“Well, no.”

And I said, “Okay, give me twenty dollars,”
which he dad. And I took him over to the
table, and it was—kind of room there. There’s
a pit boss standing there, so I said, “What’s
your name?”

Said, “Joe Blow.”

And, “Okay, Fred, this is Joe Blow. He’s a
new customer of ours. Take care of him!” [He]
put the twenty-dollar bill on the line and just
stood there—and I don’t remember if he won
the bet or not.

And he said, “Well,” bla bla bla.

I said, “Now you’re a customer!”

And he said, “Well, you want me to lose
my—” (I think something like that).

I said, “I don’t care if you even win ten
thousand dollars!” But I said, “Give us a
chance!” And I said, “That’s what the show’s
all about.”

But people don’t want to—they know that,
but they won’t accept it. And they’ll say, “Oh,
I called in and the line was busy, and then I
called back and the showroom was full,” da
da da. And all they have to—and we put up
little things which we have printed that tells
you how. And it says, “Get acquainted with
your floor supervisor,” and you get acquainted
with him by being a customer. And you can be
a slot customer—play it, you know, and “Oh,
hello, Mrs.—.

“Hi, nice to see you again.”

“Gee whiz, I’ve got some friends cornin’,
we’d like to get—.”

“Yeah, sure! How many? What—” you
know. It’s so simple, but they don’t want
to—you know. Some of ’em want to come
and eat, which is fine if we have room. But
if we don’t have room, the customers—the
players—come first. It’s so simple, but some
people don’t want to hear it.

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William F. Harrah

On the other hand, the golden-agers will take
a bus load up to see Lawrence Welk.

Oh yeah. Well, they’re players! Sure! Those
bus people are fine, you know. No, we knew.
But I just—there are people that’ll actually
go in, eat and not put a nickel in, and even
brag about or somethin’—”Oh, I never play
the games,” you know?—which was okay; we
don’t want ’em to play if they don’t want to.
But then don’t expect the favors of the players;
it’s just so simple. And they don’t get too
much, which is okay. But the whole picture,
you know—Sinatra isn’t there because of the
money we’re payin’ him. I mean we’re h i m
that, but we have to get it back, and we sure
don’t make it off of the steaks, I’ll guarantee
you that.

Adventures in Idaho

Tell me about how you got interested in the
Salmon River and what made you finally decide
to start buying property in the area and what
uses you’ve made of it.

I should explain why I went to Idaho cause
it all ties in. When we opened (and I may have
told you some of this)— when we opened the
casino here in 1946, it was a big strain for me
financially, plus Id never been in the casino
business before. So it was workin, really hours,
and worrying and planning and financial
problems, and I drank at the time anyway. So I
was drinking very heavily and getting up and
working and working and drinking, working,
drinking, and—.

So we finally got open—we got open on
schedule—June twentieth (I think), ’46. And
there were problems and, you know, to this,
that, and the other thing. So finally we started—
we got it pretty well straightened out; that was
about August. And I was like this [shakes]
actually, and I was, what, thirty-five years old.

So I went—I was like that—just, you
know—which I’d never done. And so I went to

Dr. Cantlon (Dr. Vernon Cantlon)— I didn’t
tell you that story?

I went to him, and I said, “Gimme a pill,
Doc—look at that” [shakos hand] you know.

And he said, “I can cure that.”

And I said, “Yeah, fine.”

And he said, “Will you do what I tell you
to do?”

And I said, “Of course.”

And he said, “Okay.” He said, “I want to
make it real clear—will you do what I’m gonna
tell you to do?”

I said, “Absolutely!”

He said, “Okay, go fishing.” [Laughs]

And I said, “That’s the craziest thing I ever
heard! haven’t been fishing since I was a kid!
What a waste of time,” da da da da da da da.

And he said, “What did you say? Now you
just said you’d do what I told you to do.”

I said, “Okay, okay, okay.”

So that’s when I had my twelve-cylinder
Packard convertible that I just loved. So I went
out and bought a trailer, and my girlfriend
and I, we took off. And I had no idea where I
was goin’. And I went east and got to Wells, I

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William F. Harrah

guess, and then I went north and got to Twin
Falls. And no reason—I was just ridin’ along.
And there was a man there that made our
neon signs, Mel (somethin’) [Cosgriff], who
was quite a drinkin’ guy. And (Bob Ring’ll
have his name if you want to get it) so I went
to see Mel, and 1—”Oh, hi, Dill. What are
you doing here?”—da da da. “Have a drink.”
So we had a drink.

And I said, “I’m goin’ fishin’.”

And he said, “Well, where are you goin’?”

And I said, “I don’t know! Where can I
catch a fish?”

And he said, “Damn if I know,” but he said,
“I have a guy that works on the signs that goes
fishin’, catches great big salmon. Let me go ask
him.” So he come back, and he said, “He goes
to Stanley.”

And so, “Where’s Stanley?” So we got out
a map, and I found Stanley.

So then I went to Stanley, and then I
enjoyed it there; that’s another story. But
then getting acquainted there— it was the
following year, I had a friend I made there,
Archie Danner, who lived there, and he just
recently died. But he had a little motel thing
there. I didn’t stay there; I had my trailer.
But we got to be friends. And he was quite a
hunter and fisherman, and he’d talked me into
goin’ huntin’; I didn’t like to go huntin’, but he
talked me into it. And he talked me into going
into the Middle Fork, and just on horses.
And so we had this pack string—we weren’t
hunting or anything; we were just lookin’. And
that was one of the most enjoyable trips of my
life. We got our horses and a real good packer,
Bill Sullivan; and we went in for about a week,
and we were having so much fun I think we
stayed nearly two weeks. Fact, we had to use
the Forest Service telephone to call out to get
more supplies. We ran out of—we had plenty
of meat ’cause they killed deer, and—oh, I
know what it was! Oh, that’s the funniest

thing. We took an awful lot of liquor ’cause we
were drinkin’, so we had a whole mule full of
liquor [chuckling]! And the other food didn’t
matter, you know; we could get deer and all,
and there’s always hotcakes and stuff. But we all
smoked, and so we ran out of cigarettes. And
I’ll never forget that—I smoked Luckies. So I
ran out, and I was a little shocked. So one of the
guys on the trip smoked Camels, I remember.
So 1 —doin’ this [pats pocket] —”Gee, I haven’t
got any Luckies.”

And he said, “Here, have a Camel.”

And I said, “No way! That’s the dumbest
cigarette there is.” So then about an hour later
I said, “Still got those Camels?” [Laughing]

So then we all ran out in about a—I’m
smokin’ Camels or whatever. And then a
day later we all ran out. And so then it was
a decision—and it was real simple. We sent
ol’ Bill Sullivan—he was the packer—we
called out on the Forest Service phone, had
somebody bring some cigarettes in, and some
other stuff. But where they could bring ’em in
was, I think, twenty miles up the river. And
of Bill, who’s still alive— he’s a good friend
of mine. He’s quite a real outdoorsman. He
took one of his best horses and went up the
river twenty miles and brought the stuff—the
supplies—and come back the same day, which
is unbelievable.

But anyway, while we were in there, we
were goin’ along the river, and you know,
campin’ out. But we came to this one place
which is the Middle Fork Lodge—it was called
the Middle Fork Lodge—and we had lunch
there. And there was a lady (I still know her),
Mrs. Guth—husband was Bill Guth, and he’s
still alive, too; he moved around. She actually
ran the place. And so we stopped there.
“Could we have lunch?”

“Oh, sure you can have lunch.” And
so she—these sandwiches with big, thick
homemade bread, and it was so wonderful.

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161

And I was impressed with the place. It was
terribly run-down, but I thought, “Oh boy,
what—” you know But I didn’t have money
in those days. It wasn’t even thinkable to have
anything like that. But I looked it all over and
just— “Oooh! This is beautiful.”

So then later, maybe five or ten years or
whenever, it became available. And at the
time the man was tryin to sell it to me, and
he started describing it to me, and I said, “I
know every inch of that place.” And we made
a good deal on it at the time. And we fixed
it all up, of course, and fixed it up nice. We
didn’t put any chrome or any tin roofs or
anything; it’s all done very well—rustic and
so on.

I think we can handle thirty guests at a
time—that’s everything full. And we have a
swimming pool—swimming pool was there.
In fact, the man that built the swimming
pool— he was a previous owner—Rex
Lanham. I bought it from Rex; that’s right. Rex
had a partner—he’s a real good friend of ours.
He’s an old Idaho guy that started with nothin’
and then owned—just very successful—a
good all-around guy. And he owned it, and
he sold it to us. The swimming pool, it’s a
beautiful, a hundred-foot swimming pool
and wide, and there’s natural hot water there.
And it’s not sulfur water; it’s just plain, natural
hot water. In fact, we heat the lodge, and the
faucet in the bathroom is hot water right out
of the mountain.

But I said, “How did you ever build that
swimming pool?”

He has a lot of airplanes; he’s quite a pilot.
But he had this little Super Cub that he had
built to haul stuff (’cause he has another place
up there)—.haul material. I think he could
haul in two sacks of cement at a time, and it
took five or six hundred sacks [chuckles]. But
he said, “Figure it out yourself how many trips
it took!”

Anyway, I’d say it’s very popular, of course.
It’s natural hot water.

Then we’re on a creek there, Thomas
Creek. They had a little nothin’ power plant
there. So we put in quite a sophisticated
hydroelectric plant. And in about, oh, two or
three months in the spring and a few months
in the fall (I forget exactly when it is, but I’d
say maybe five months of the year) we can
run on our hydroelectric. There’s enough
water in the thing—the creek—to run just
about everything on the place. We have a lot
of things going at six o’clock at night when
everybody’s got their lights on. And then we
have a diesel that we use otherwise.

A story I like to tell is when the
hydroelectric’s working, we get free electricity,
and with the hot water cornin’ out of the hill,
we get free hot water, so it’s really, really nice.

That’s owned by the Company. And it’s
used—because of Internal Revenue and all,
why, it has to be “purely business” and so on;
so I don’t go there as much as I used to, but
that’s “life.”

But in Stanley, that’s my separate property.
And, of course, that’s business, too, but I have
a lot more reasons to go to Stanley—because
there’s a business there, and I own it, so I go
there to look at it. Stanley, where I first went
and loved, fishin’ didn’t amount to much, but
bein’ there was a lot of fun. And I was still
drinkin’, but I went out by a little stream, and
I bought a fishin’ pole and so on and I tried it.
And then I got in with some guys that knew
how to fish, and I got to feelin so good real
fast, because even though I was still drinkin’,
I was eating good, and you can’t help walking,
you know, and I had a big pot [pats abdomen]
on me and I lost it right away. But I went to
stay I think a week or—that’s right, a week—
and I stayed six weeks. And I would call in,
you know; they had a phone there in Stanley.
And I’d call in about every day, and business

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William F. Harrah

was just fine. In fact, that’s always kinda—it’s
nice if you own a place and business gets
better, but still, if you’re not there, you think,
“Well—” [chuckles] it’s good and it’s bad! But
anyway, I came back, and I was just fine. But
I fell in love with the place.

And so I went back—in fact, I went back
that year. I met this Archie, and he talked me
into cornin’ back for hunting season (which
was October), which I went back for, which
I didn’t enjoy—I enjoyed bein’ there, but I
didn’t enjoy the hunting. I think either then
(that was ’46) or ’47, this little cabin was for
sale. And it was a cabin and the lot for twelve
hundred dollars. It was a little log cabin—I
think about an eighty-foot lot. And it had
no—well, there was no electricity in the town;
it had a little light plant and no plumbing. It
had the outhouse. But I bought it, and I loved
it and started fixing it up right away. And then
bought the lot next door and the lot next door
and the lot next door and the lot next and the
lot next door and the lot next door. And added
on the cabin and added on the cabin again.
And then my present wife—we made a big
addition because of my three boys, and that’s
kind of their wing. They each have a bedroom
and a playroom. So now it’s quite an extensive
place. And it’s a very beautiful place. And
garages, and places for the snow machines,
and places for the bicycles and motorcycles,
and on and on. And a beautiful lawn and a
guest cabin. And people look at it, you know,
and they—”Wow! What a place for Stanley!”

And I’d say, “Yeah, it started with a twelve-
hundred-dollar cabin.

But then I wasn’t interested in goin’ into
business there at all, ’cause that was where I
relaxed; that was my play place. And I knew
everybody in town. I’ve been goin’ there so
long that now I’m an old-timer up there. I
know everybody in there, and knew a lot of
’em when they were kids, you know; I’ve seen

’em grow up, and now they’re the owners of
the businesses and so on. So I’m a real old-
timer.

SO I didn’t want to be in business, but
there was a piece of property adjoining mine,
one little piece I didn’t have— and that always
bugs me if I don’t have it. It was a garage here,
and I’d known the owner of the garage. He was
a nice old guy. And he died, and it went here
and there, and it was an old stone building,
you know—beautiful building. And so it’d
been kicked around and all, and it became for
sale, and I thought, “What the heck, I’ll buy
that thing!” So I bought it and started to run
the gas station.

Then I got interested in it—the gas station
and the repair shop and so on—and we ran
that. And then, it was no trouble; I just had a
guy runnin it and it was fun. I’d go over and,
“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” And it was a place—
you know, it was fun.

So then there was about three restaurants
there, and some of ’em, most of ’em, closed in
the winter. But there was one, this old hotel
there, and it had been closed for years; it was
open when I got there, and it closed. It was
doing very poorly, and it closed. And then it
was closed for years.

The fishing guide at the Middle Fork,
a Bob Cole (who’s another story)—. Bob’s
father (who was a wonderful old man) was
retired. And then he kinda liked the country;
they were both from Twin Falls. He liked the
country, and so he and his wife bought this
old hotel. And I remember when they bought
it, and I thought, “Boy that’s dumb. That place
hasn’t been any good in years.” And it was
run-down, the windows broken and all, you
know. And it had about four or five rooms
upstairs and one bathroom and pretty good
lobby and pretty good, small dining room.
But they bought it—the two of ’em—and
they were both in their sixties or older. They

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163

worked real hard and cleaned it all up and
opened it up and had wonderful food, and it
was a good place to eat. And so we all started
eating there, and theyd rent a room once in
a while. And they had no nut,” just the two of
’em. I think they paid twenty thousand dollars
for it or so. In a couple of years, Bob kept tellin
me how they were doin’; I think they’d paid
for it, and they had twenty or thirty thousand
dollars out of it.

They were getting old, and Bob’s son,
Steve, got married, and he was workin around
there. So the old folks sold it to Steve, which
was a surprise ’cause he was in his early
twenties. Where he got any money—but then
Bob got in the deal, and it was a family thing.
But they had a price on it and all.

So Steve and Kathy had it, and they were
young kids in their twenties. And they worked
real hard. And we thought, “Well, the food
isn’t gonna be as good because the kids—
what do they know?” And the food was as
good, or it was better. So— “Oh boy, isn’t that
wonderful?” And, “We have a nice restaurant
in Stanley,” and they were open all year, and,
“Oh boy!”

And so that went on for a couple of years.
And we didn’t go out to eat; we had a nice
kitchen, but we liked to go out to lunch quite
often and dinner maybe once or twice a week.
So one night, we’d eaten at home three or four
nights, and it was Friday night. So we liked to
call up—they were so busy. So we called up
about five-thirty or five o’clock (I think), said,
“We’ll be down to dinner at six-thirty. Save us
a table.”

And Verna did the calling, and Steve was
a little haughty. And he said, “Oh,” he said,
“we’re closing at five-thirty. If you get here
before then, we can serve you.”

So we couldn’t get there before then, so
we said, “No,” and we thought, “What’s that
all about?” And then it continued, and we

would call, and—it was usually on Friday, too.
And, “Well, if you get here by five—.” Well,
that’s ridiculous— five-thirty—you know,
who wants to eat at five-thirty? Some people
do, but—. Come to find out, they’d be goin
somewhere, and they would just close up. And
then it got even worse; they would not even
open Friday. They’d want to go somewhere.
And prior to that, why, she had her sister
come in or they had somethin’ so the place
was always open.

But then they made some money, and they
bought this and that, and they bought the
property behind, they were doin’ good. And
they got real cocky and closed up whenever
they felt like it, which is—I mean that’s their
privilege; it’s their place. If they, you know—
they can close forever. And we didn’t talk
to them at all about it, except, you know,
if they’d ask us, we’d say, “Gee,” you know,
“we’d like to eat,” and all. And they were real
independent—”Boy, this is the way it is.”

And so then Verna and I talked about it.
And well, we could handle it okay; we had
our own kitchen, but we said, “Gee, that’s
terrible for people come up here, and it’s May
or somethin’, you know, and expectin’—”
(and the other restaurants wouldn’t open till
summer, you know) , “and here they get in
town, there’s no place to eat!” I said, “That’s
terrible!”

So, the other restaurant in town (they were
havin’ a terrible time) , it became available,
and so I asked Verna, I said, “What do you
think? It’s—price is right. And I don’t like the
restaurant business, but,” I said, “I’m sure we
can handle it with help from Reno. And well,
there’ll be a place to eat in Stanley.”

She said, “Let’s do it.” So we bought this
other restaurant. And, course, Steve and Kathy
have hated us ever since [laughter], which is
the way people are. And we actually did it—.
I’ve told a lot of people that story—. And

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William F. Harrah

of course, some people believe it, and some
don’t. But the reason we own a restaurant is so
there’ll be a restaurant open in Stanley every
day of the year. And we also bought the motel
which was next door—became available. And
now there’s a place to—and we also bought
another gas station, which is always open. So
now, 365 days a year you can go to Stanley, and
you can buy gas, you can get a room, and you
can eat (which is kind of important, too). But
then later we bought the grocery store, and
we bought the ice cream parlor, and on and
on and on. So we own an awful lot of Stanley.

It’s rumored that you will have gambling in
Stanley.

They used to have gambling there years
ago. When I first went up there, all over the
state it was gambling just in the back room,
you know—it paid the sheriff off. But that
hasn’t been there in years, and we have no
interest in gambling in Idaho. Well, Idaho isn’t
gonna have gambling, first of all—I’m sure
of that. And then if they were, and we were
interested, we wouldn’t be in Stanley where
there’s forty-seven people; we’d be in Boise
where there’s a hundred thousand or eighty
thousand or something. So it’s just crazy.

And then to add fire to the rumor, we’ve
got some beautiful property there right on the
river. It all ties in together—all of our property.
And so we built a very nice restaurant there.
It’s too nice for the town, really, but as long
as we built it from the ground up—so as long
as we’re building it, we allowed for expansion.
So we built a restaurant—it isn’t open yet; the
whole building is up, the interior isn’t done.
That’ll take another six months, so it’ll be the
first of the year or so before it’s actually open.
But it’s huge. And for Stanley, people look at
it, “Well, that’s a casino!” And it isn’t; it’s just
the way that you should build things, when

you can, because five years later it’s never big
enough—if it’s successful, which I’m sure it’ll
be successful. And no matter how you plan
it, there’s just—you put in ten booths, or if
ten isn’t enough, you should have twenty. So
it’s built nice and big to start with, but then if
it is very successful, we can go out. But that’s
our fun place. Well, we went to Stanley, and
Verna at first didn’t like it. Well, she liked
it—see, she was born and raised in Idaho, so
she likes Idaho. But Stanley was kinda fun,
but I’d been there before with my other wife
so that there’s always a damper, you know. But
then when we added on and built the place for
the kids and all, then it became her place as
well as mine, which is nice. So we just loved
it there. And we used to—for fun, we’d go to
Ketchum and Sun Valley—just somethin’ to
ride; it’s sixty miles. We’d ride down there and
maybe go shopping, look around, have lunch
or something.

And so we were talkin’ one year, and it was
like—it’s amazing how fast this happened—it
had to be after the first of the year (that was
last year, ’77). I’d say in January of ’77 we
were up there, and Verna said, “Wouldn’t it
be kinda fun to have a place here?”

And I said, “Well, yeah, it would,” because
Sun Valley is skiing and Stanley in the winter
is snow—big on snow machines and cross¬
country skiing. And of course, Sun Valley and
Ketchum is skiing.

And the kids and all—and she said, “It
would be nice to have a place here and a
really—it’s a place to ski and all.”

And I said, “Oh, I don’t want to ski, but,”
I said, “I’d love bein’ here. I’d like it.”

And so we said, “Okay, let’s get a place
here.”

So we got a realtor, very nice man (can’t
think of his name) [ Winton Gray]. Forget how
we got him, but he happened to be the mayor
of Sun Valley, which was only a hundred and

Adventrues in Idaho

165

eighty people there. But he’s become a good
friend; he’s such a nice man. And so we talked
to him. And he said, well, this and that, and
we had this and this bracket and that bracket,
and so on, and, “What’s your numbers?”

And we said, “Well, we really—there’s no
really numbers on it. Let’s just see what’s for
sale.”

So we’re lookin’ at this and we’re lookin’
at that. And that’s too far away, and that’s too
close. And he says, “Well, there’s one for sale—
or gonna be.” And he said, “I’m not supposed
to tell anybody about it; I’m sworn to secrecy.
But,” he said, “the man said, ‘Sell it, but don’t
tell anybody.’” And he says, “I don’t know
how I’m gonna sell it if I don’t tell anybody!”
[Laughter] So he said, “I’m going to!”

And I said, “Okay, what is it?”

He said, “It’s Bill Janss’s place.” Bill Janss
was the owner of Sun Valley; he’s supposed
to be a zillionaire and all. And they’d had two
terrible seasons—no snow, you know—so
we knew he was hurtin’. Rumors around, you
know, and they had big expense there; three or
four hundred employees had to get paid every
day, and waitin’ for it to snow. You just can’t
wait till it snows and then go look for some
employees; you know how that is. So they put
’em on about late October, early November,
and they’d go through the winter and no snow
two years in a row! So the nut was just—he
lost several million dollars, I think. And we
got to know him very well. His wife is Glenn
Janss. They’re wonderful people. We got to be
good friends.

Anyway, the Janss—well, why?—you
know. Well, ’cause he really—he needed the
money, but he didn’t want anybody to know
he needed the money. And he was that bad
off. So it was for sale, and it was over a million
dollars. And we looked at it, and that you look
at, it’s a million-dollar house. And seven acres
right in the heart of Sun Valley, and right

on the golf course, and nobody around, and
the stream goes right by the door, and just
perfect, and unbelievable (I’d like you to see it
someday) —just unbelievable, one-of-a-kind
house in the whole world. And all the rooms
are double height, you know— the ceiling is
eighteen, twenty feet; two chimneys; and on
and on and on—just a magnificent home.

So anyway, like I said, it was January or
late January, and we decided we wanted the
place. And by the middle of February we
bought this place. And it was like somebody
wanted us to have it because it just came on
the market the week that we started looking
for a place, and, of course, it’s a lot of money;
everybody couldn’t afford it. So it just was
meant for us to have.

We have that now, and we’ve remodeled
it—odds and ends, just little things we like,
like our bathrooms have to be just so and our
kitchen was excellent, but we like a family
room we have here, and we have in Stanley,
in a way. And then in Sun Valley we’ve set it
up, too, and we have our three TVs there so
we can watch three shows if we want. And
like we go there, and we have a drink before
dinner and on and on—our life-style—it just
fits our life-style.

We have that, so then between that and
that, plus I wanted the boys to learn to water
ski and sail. I can water ski just barely, and I
can sail just barely—not even barely. But, okay,
how do you do that? And we spend a lot of
time—you know, we go to Tahoe, of course,
but we spend more time in Idaho than we do
at Tahoe—for all those reasons. So we looked
around up there, and we wanted a home on a
lake. And sure you can— there’s a lot of lakes
there, and you can tow your boat up and then
back the trailer in the water and all that. And
the way I’m constructed, I’m just lazy, I guess
it is. If the boat’s out in front, I go water ski
and I go for a boat ride. But if I have to go,

166

William F. Harrah

and ba ba ba, back in and all that, I’ll say, “Oh,
poohy! I won’t bother with it!”

So we looked for a home on a lake,
and there’s hardly any up there. The Forest
Service owns everything. And there’s just a
few homes, and they’re tryin’ to phase them
out. But at Pettit Lake, which is about halfway
between Stanley and Ketchum-Sun Valley,
and it’s about three or four miles off the
highway—is this cute little lake. It’s about two
miles long and maybe a mile, three quarters of
a mile wide. But it’s quite adequate for water
skiing and sailing on. I think there’s about
twenty cabins there, that are on land leases.
And they’re very popular, so none was for sale.
And then we found one that was for sale, and
then it wasn’t for sale, and so and so.

And then we got this one which, it was—
Bill Janss was part owner, of it; this was the
year before we got his home. And it was a real
run-down little—most of ’em aren’t much;
they’re just summer cabins. And we always
have to fix everything up, so we fixed it up real
cute. And it didn’t cost a lot of money. And
we’ve stayed there at night, but it’s so handy—
it’s only twenty minutes, thirty minutes from
Stanley, so we can drive up and take our lunch
and go waterskiing and all that, and sailing,
and whatever, and come back the same day.
And we have stayed overnight. But we fixed
it— it’s a tiny little place—but we fixed up,
where Verna and I have a room and the boys
have a room, and even security has a place
there. And we have our dock, which is so nice,
and we have a nice ski boat out in front, and
we have a cute little sailboat out in front, and
then some playthings the kids like, like rubber
rafts and things, you know. So summertime
we’ll go there—.

And then also last year we went—which
I think we’ll do again (I m digressing a little
but not much) —we went backpacking. We’ve
read about that and thought, “Well, gee, that

would be fun to try.” And we did it just right;
I’m kinda proud of that. Like we talked to Ivan
[Sack] on it, and he gave us some pointers.
Fact, he was gonna go, and then he got ill.

So we laid out a way to go up there. In fact,
we left from a point maybe five miles south of
Stanley, and then we finished at Pettit Lake,
and I think it was maybe nineteen miles or
twenty-one miles. But Verna was gonna meet
us—she couldn’t go; she got sick at the last
minute. And she was gonna meet us at the
cabin at Pettit; we got there early, but she was
there, which was pleasing. We were going to
get there in two and a half days. Okay, so let’s
say we left on a Monday, and we went—and
it was really fun. Ted [Ererson], my security,
went; he’s a big strong guy. He carried forty-
some pounds, I remember. And Ivan was
gonna go, and as Ivan couldn’t go—and
he’s our “woodsman”—we took a man from
Stanley, an Albert Denny, who’s been there
since I’ve been there, who’s a wonderful man.
He works for us in Middle Fork sometimes.
He’s in his sixties, and he’s strong as an ox. I
think he carried thirty-some pounds. And
then the three boys and me— I carried, I
think sixteen pounds, which was somethin’,
you know. And the boys carried around ten,
I think. And it was a wonderful experience
for all of us.

Anyway, we went, and the first day we’d
had our camp picked out, which was fine.
And it was on a lake. And we asked Ivan—
Ivan isn’t always wrong; he’s usually right, but
sometimes he’s wrong—and we asked him
beforehand, we said, “Well, should we take
tents?”

And he said, “No way!” He said, “That’s
terrible! You’re backpacking,” he said, “you
know,” this and that.

I said, “Well, they make tents weigh four
pounds,” you know.

“No, no, that’s terrible!”

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167

So at the last minute, I think at Verna’
s insistence, we took some little tents that
weighed nothing.

Well, anyway, we got up in our first camp,
and so we had the tents; we spread ’em out.
And we had three tents, and so I was with
Tony in one, and John was with Albert in
one, and Ted and Richard were in one. And
that night it started raining, and it rained and
rained and rained and rained and rained. So
it was wonderful having tents. But we were
set up—we really hadn’t planned it too good
’cause we didn’t really think it was gonna rain.
So I woke up about (this is unimportant,
but I’ll tell it anyway) —about three in the
morning (I had a flashlight, of course), and I
looked at my watch—three o’clock—and I was
wet, and the tent was leaking! I was wet, and
I looked at Tony—he was sound asleep—but
he was wet, and I thought, “Well—.” And I
tried to move around and all, and it was just
terrible.

So I said, “Well, now this—I can lie
here—I’m not gonna sleep a wink; I know it.
I’m cold and wet. But I can leave the others,
or I can—you know,” and I really argued with
myself. And I thought—in cases like that, I
can usually think it pretty good, so I said,
“Well, what’s the intelligent thing to do? Will
I be glad tomorrow I did—or next week or
next month—will I be glad I did—? Well, I’ll
be glad that I got out of the tent and went over
and woke up Ted and Albert and said, “Hey,
I’m freezin’ to death; let’s dry things out; let’s
start a fire; let’s—you know.”

So I did—I went over and woke up Ted,
and he got right up; he was—you know,
he didn’t growl. He was a little wet, too—
everybody was a little wet, although they were
sound asleep. And of course, when they woke
up (Albert and—), they were glad I’d woke
’em, you know. So they started a big fire, and
it was hard to start because the logs were wet.

But they—you know—mountain men can do
it. So they started this big fire, and of course,
the kids were tickled to death! And we all
dried out and reset our tents and went back
to bed, and it was fine. And we woke up the
next day, it was clear.

Then we went on, and we did a lot of
climbing, and it was straight up, and well, it
wasn’t really—there was a trail. [As] much you
could go, maybe, or I could go with my wind,
which is fair because I do jog; course, Albert
and Ted were super. And the kids, like little
John—he stayed right with Albert; they went
out in front. And then Richard and Tony were
about my speed. Then finally I got to counting,
and there you were—and we kept getting
higher and higher, you know; we’re up—nine
thousand feet, something like that. So we re
climbing, and we had a long ways to go. And
you re climbing—you know, up—not hand
over hand, but it’s real steep—with a pack on
your back. And I got a little trick of my own:
I could go about a hundred steps, and then I’d
stop, and I’d rest till I got my—and I wouldn’t
wait till I wasn’t breathing heavy, you know,
but, why, I’d slow down; then I’d do it again.
So I just kept movin’ right along, and as I said,
John and Albert went on out in front.

So we got on, and we came to our second
camp, and we got there at lunchtime. And we
thought, “Well, gee whiz, there’s no sense—
you know—and it’s only another eight miles
(which is a long ways) or six miles. But, why
don’t we go on? But Verna won’t be there, but
so what? We can break a window if we have
to,” ’cause we didn’t have any keys or anything.
So we went on; course, we got pretty tired
near the end, but we were still goin’ okay.
And so then we made it around four or five
o’clock to the cabin, and Verna was there! And
because we were—I’ll never forget—I had a
can of Coors (we have a refrigerator there, of
course)—and I had a can of Coors, and it was

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William F. Harrah

the best can of beer I ever had in my life, you
know, cause you’re tired [breathes heavily—
pants] and dirty and sweaty and on. I said,
“What are you doin’ here?”

And she said, “Well, I know you!” She said,
“I know darn well if you’re goin’ pretty good,
you’re gonna [laughs] keep on going, and you
would get here ahead.” And so she just figured
we would.

And of course, the kids just loved it. Well,
they liked the walkin’ and the scenery and the
mountains and runnin’. But also bein’ dirty
and all ’cause you get on those—you’re never
really clean; you try to pretend you’re clean,
but you’re not. It was great.

But anyway, like last summer, of the ten
weeks, maybe, summertime, I’d say we spent
maybe six of ’em in Idaho. And it’s great. In
Stanley we have the—which Verna named—
it’s a little hamburger place; we call it the
French Fry Connection. And we run that,
and our restaurants, and our bar, and our
motel, and our two gas stations. We put in
a pizza parlor there last summer, which was
fun, really. It’s a good pizza parlor. It’s the only
one in the county. And things like that are fun,
and it’s good for the kids, you know. They get
a touch of business and—.

Then in Ketchum, there was a Volkswagen
agency for sale there, a nice little building
right in Ketchum—Volkswagen and Audi
and Porsche. And then that’s a great Jeep
country, and there’s a Jeep agency there, and
so I bought that from the fella [that] had the
Jeep, and bought him out and moved it over
with the—. So I have a real nice little car
agency there that does all right. It’s nothing
like here, and it’s small expense because of it,
and we have some good management, and
it’s a fun thing for me, and—like I get up in
the morning in Sun Valley and get to have
breakfast and drink our coffee and watch the
news. Then I get dressed and go down—we’ll

go to the grocery store or something, and then
I’ll go over to the agency, which is right across
from the grocery store, and, “What’s goin’ on?
What’s—” you know, this and that. And it’s
fun.

Then we had a chance to buy a general
store there, and it’s the best location in
Ketchum. And the place did a lot of—does
a big business; and it just sells, well, odds
and ends kinda—like you need jeans or you
need mittens or you need just low-price stuff,
and it’s—they carry a big stock. It’s called
DeCostas, and it’s an excellent location; it
does a big business. We did a lot of shopping
there for years. And the place makes a lot of
money—I mean for that kind of a store.

So I’d admired the store, and the fella who
ran it was a real crabby guy. And he was real
suspicious, like you’d come in, he’d watch ya
like you’re gonna steal something’, you know,
and just real negative. And he wrote me a
letter, and, “Dear Mr. Harrah—” (and I guess
that was after I bought the Jeep agency or the
Volkswagen) —he said, “I see you’re buying
something—would you be interested in a
store like that?”

And I go, “Wow! How come—?” And
come to find out, he’d been there about five or
six years, and he’d made a lot of money. And
his home was in California, which he liked.
And plus he knew he wasn’t cut out for it; he
was just so nervous somebody was gonna
steal somethin’, and the least little thing would
drive him crazy. He was like this [nervous,
shaking], you know.

so anyway, it was for sale, and so he—
’’What do you want?” Well, he didn’t know,
and so we had it appraised and made him an
offer, and he accepted it. So—zing! We were
in the store business. And we’ve done a lot
of things—see, like he’d buy somethin’ and
it wouldn’t sell, which you can do. He would
never discount it, or he would never—it would

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169

just sit there. So he had a lot of out-of-date
stock. And you know, well, what can I do?
There it is, you know—old—like jeans—out-
of-style jeans and stuff. So we went in with a
pretty good management, and like we sold the
jeans for a dollar a pair, two dollars a pair. And
now we have all the proper swingin’ jeans, so
it’s doing very well. And we go down and look
at that, so it’s—.

The Ketchum area—Sun Valley—there’s a
lot of—it’s amazing! See, in the season there’s a
lot of people there, and there’s a lot of money
there. And like there’s maybe ten to fifteen
excellent restaurants there, if you can believe
it— I mean, gourmet-type restaurants—or
maybe fifteen or twenty. And they close when
it’s slow, but when it’s pretty good, they open.
When you want to go out to dinner, why,
there’s a choice of fifteen to twenty excellent
restaurants. It’s a real fun place. And then still
sixteen miles away, why here’s Stanley with
one restaurant. And again it’s good for the
kids; they see the whole picture.

And then, getting back to Idaho—just a
few things—we don’t go to the Lodge much
any more, but of course, we’re in Stanley a lot.
But we do go. You can go down the river—
see, the river, the middle fork of the Salmon
River, starts about maybe thirty miles above
the Lodge. And it comes out on the main
river, which is the end of the middle fork,
about seventy miles down river; it’s about a
hundred and five miles. And you can float
it on a rubber raft or a dory-type boat, and
we’ve done that for years. I’ve been down there
about twelve times, I guess. And Verna and
I, and the boys—we go—we’ve gone every
year for five years. And it’s a fun thing we
look forward to. And we either leave from the
main—depending on the height of the river—
we’ll leave from Dagger Falls; that’s where you
put in. And then the Lodge is about two days
down. So the first night you camp out; second

night you’re at the Lodge, which is kinda nice
’cause we have our rooms there, and we just
go into our room and get the things that you
forgot, like your suntan lotion or whatever.
And then from there it’s about three or four
days more—three days—and you just float
down the river and camp at night. And we
take about the same crew, and we take a dory
also, so we have two large rubber rafts and a
dory. And we have Bob Cole from the Lodge,
who’s the manager, and we also have some
professional boatmen. And all we do is just
sit on the boat and go along. Of course, the
kids just love it! That’s their happy time of the
year, ’cause you’re camping out all the time,
and they can swim in the river, and there’s
sandbars you stop on and they dig holes in the
sand and they catch pollywogs, and on and
on and on. It’s just super. And you really get
away; see, there’s nothing down there. There’s
no civilization whatsoever.

In fact, I went down there first in 1948
on a rubber raft, and it was unheard-of then,
’cause one place we stopped they had a cache,
and it was put up where the water couldn’t
get to it. And there was this can in there—tin
can—it was a pretty good—like a metal box.
And the fella I went with, he was one of the
first to go down. So he’d started this thing, and
there was a scroll in there that you signed; you
became a member of the (what’s the name) the
Wild Rivers or something. And I was Number
Twenty-four to sign it. And I thought, “Well,
there’ve been a few Injuns here, but I’m one
of the first white men.”

Now, of course, there’s—oh, I think there’s
two thousand— we count ’em; they go by the
Lodge, and we made a real nice place which
I’m kinda proud of, a place where they can
pull in with their rafts, and we sell ’em beer
and suntan oil and things like that. And so
many people forget those things. And you’re
halfway—you know—and no suntan oil.

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William F. Harrah

And just the simple little things that you
forget. And they’re just so appreciative. And
we don’t make any money on it; we have one
little girl runnin’ it. Fact, we lose money—but
just maybe her salary, which is nothing. But
it’s such a (what is it) public relations thing,
for what that’s worth—I get letters, you
know—’’Dear Mr. Harrah, We were in there
and there, and we’d lost our sunglasses, and
the type of eyes I have I really shouldn’t—you
know. And you had sunglasses—” just on and
on and on.

And there’s a funny story. We went fishing
one morning. We go fishin’ up the river about
a couple of miles—salmon fishin’—that’s the
only kind of fishin’ I do. And when we left, I
know, we were up a little ways. And this boat
party came by, and they had—there’s a lot
of boat parties, but I noticed them because
they had some nice equipment, and they
were dressed similar—was a first-class outfit.
I think they had about two boats and maybe
six or eight fellas. We didn’t do very good,
’cause usually you’re back by noon or before.
But we take a lunch just in case. But we’re
up there, say, most of the day, and I think
everybody caught a fish but somebody, and we
just stayed; so it may be three or four cornin’
back, which is very late to come in from
salmon fishin’. So we came in, and these boats
are pulled in at our place. So I knew they got
there at nine or ten in the morning, and it’s
four in the afternoon—”My God! Somebody’s
sick or,” you know, “accident.” So gee, I rushed,
you know. And I asked the first person I ran
into—I said [stuttering] “W-what’s goin’ —
what wha-wha-wha-wha—?”

And they laughed, and said, “Well, it’s a
gang of guys from Boise (or somethin’), and
they came along, and they’re beer drinkers.
And they ran out of beer, and they came down
here and found we had cold beer! [Laughing]
They sat there all day and drank beer! And we

were rushin’—we ran out of cold—and we’re
puttin’ it in the freezer to get it cold, so— you
know.” Then when they left, they took a couple
of cases with them.

And then the salmon fishin’, which is a run
up there, which is the craziest thing ever—the
life of a salmon is just really weird. They go
up there to spawn, and they have to go from
the Pacific Ocean into the Columbia River
into the Snake River into the Salmon River
into the middle fork of the Salmon River.
And when they’re hatched and they go down
the river, there’s a little somethin’ in nature
that tells ’em where. And when they come
back, they put tags on ’em. Here’s a bunch
of salmon swimmin’, and this salmon was
spawned up the main river, and this salmon
was spawned up the middle fork; and they just
without hesitation—this one goes this way
[points] and this one goes this way. It’s the
craziest thing ever. And they come up there,
and there is a salmon season. And you’re torn
two ways on that; if you catch ’em after they
spawn, they’re no good. So you catch ’em
before they spawn; but then if you catch ’em
before they spawn, then you’re killing a lot of
unborn salmon, you know. So, it’s a thing, but
when there’s a lot of’em, you don’t feel too bad
about it. And for a while there, it was gettin
real scarce. And it’s not back where it should
be now. When I first was up there, there was
a zillion salmon. But like many things, they
put you—. And then it was handled poorly
down below. That was a problem.

The Indians down there, there’s no laws on
them, so they can spear ’em, and apparently
nothing can be done about that. They had
some dams down there they built, and the
fall of the water—and if water falls a far
enough distance when it falls on other water,
it produces nitrogen, which’ll kill the fish. And
the fish were dying, and they couldn’t figure
out why, and then they—. This is just what I

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171

read and talked to Bob Cole and all. But there
really wasn’t too much interest in it. And we
joined all the fish associations there were, and
Bob got in it very deep. Then finally there
was some interest, and committees formed,
and, “What the hell’s goin’ on here?” And
they discovered that the nitrogen actually
killed the fish. Well, then how do you stop it?
Well, by breaking the fall. Like if the water
falls twenty feet, there’s no nitrogen; but if it
falls forty feet, there’s nitrogen; and if it falls
sixty feet, there’s no nitrogen. It’s just one of
those things. So they discovered these things
that they built, these dams and things—they
were zillion-dollar dams—but they could
put fixtures on ’em so that it would break.
Instead of failin’ forty feet, it would fall thirty,
and then it would run over here and fall—.
So then with that, plus there were many fish
being lost—just little side streams that nobody
fished, nothing, and then the fish would get
out in the field, you know, and just die out
there, which they’ve closed those up, too. So
it’s come back quite good. And then it varies
from year to year, you know, ’cause they come
back every four years. So if there were very
few four years ago, then there’ll be fewer this
year. And if there were a lot four years ago,
then you can expect a lot of fish. So it’s all very
interesting.

I took a lot of interest in it because I
admire the salmon, you know, and they swim
all that way upstream. They don’t eat after
they leave the ocean, and sixty-pound salmon
when he leaves the ocean, he gets up our way,
he’s a thirty-pound salmon, you know, all that
swimming. It’s a crazy story. And they go up
there, and you can see them spawn up—they
get up beyond—in fact, west of Stanley is the
spawning beds. And it’s an exciting story. And
then, I’ve caught a lot of salmon, of course. I’m
a fair fisherman, but I always have someone
along that knows—like Bob Cole is excellent.

He’s our guide up— well, that’s a story, too—
an interesting story.

We got the Lodge in ’65, and Bob Cole,
who was the well driller from Twin Falls—very
successful—he and his father (I mentioned
his father bought the thing). I went fishing;
before I even went in the middle fork, I fished
the main river. And I love salmon fishin; it’s
quite a thrill—you get a twenty, thirty pound
salmon on your line in a little river, that is
exciting! So I liked it, and it’s ’bout the only
form of fishing I like. So I started fishing and
enjoyed it, but I was a bum fisherman, and I
had brains enough to know it. So I’d always
have a guide, and he would take me the
right—and you know, what was good last year,
this year is different; the river changed in the
winter, and so that hole’s no good any more.
Also this is what they’re biting, plus puttin’
the hooks on—I can do it, but I don’t like to.
So I had several guides and just got along fine
with a guide, you know. And I always liked the
people and admired them, and they seemed
to get along with me.

So year after year I’d have this guide, and
then he’d move away, and this one and that
one, and so on. And so one year I was up there,
and I had the guide lined up. And he was
from somewhere near Boise, where he worked
in the winter, and then he’d come up in the
summer. But then his daughter got in trouble
or his wife was injured or something—all of
a sudden he couldn’t come. So, and here it is
June or middle of June—the salmon season
opens day after tomorrow, and I have no
guide. And so boy, what am I gonna do?

So I went, and there was one fella I
admired very much, who—I can look up his
name. He owned a gas station in lower Stanley
(there’s an upper Stanley and lower Stanley;
lower Stanley doesn’t amount to much). But
I admired him ’cause he took this nothin’ gas
station and by working’ real hard, he built

172

William F. Harrah

it up into somethin’ and sold it out for a lot
of money— later. I admired ’cause he was a
hustler. So I bought gas there, and I liked him.

And so I was in there, and we were
talkin’—yackety, yackety, yack—and, “How’s
things?”

And I said, “Oh, darn it! Salmon season
opens day after tomorrow and I don’t have a
guide!” I said, “Do you know any guides?”

And he said, “God, no, I don’t.” And he
said, “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” He said,
“Do you know Bob Cole?”

And I said, “Uh—2’

And he said, “Well, the fella over there.”
And I’d seen him around.

So I said, “Oh, yeah, I’ve seen him.”

And he said, “Well, he’s from Twin, and
he’s not a guide; he’s just a fisherman.” He said,
“He owns his own business. But he loves to
fish. Let me ask him if he’ll take you up.”

I said, “Oh, gee, I don’t want to bother
anybody,” which I really didn’t. Here’s an
independent guy; he’s come up to go salmon
fishin’, and then he’s gotta drag me along.

And so he said, “Well, let me ask him!”

And so I said, “Okay.”

So I asked him, and he said he’d heard
of me or somethin’— he said, “No, I’ll be
glad to take—” So how do you do [gesture
handshake] —.

So we went, and Bob was just a super
guide. And he could catch a fish just no
problem at all, but he was always helpin’ me
and helpin’ whoever was with us and baitin’
our hooks and puttin’ new hooks on and
tellin’ you where to throw your line and all
that—and just a wonderful guide!

So we went fishing that year a lot. And
then you could go fishing—now they’re two
salmon a year; in those days it was I think
two salmon in possession, so you could fish
all year, you know, and give ’em to somebody
and go fishin’ again. So I fished a lot.

So it was either the first year or the
second year, and Bob’s—nothin’; he wouldn’t
even—well, he’d let me buy him his lunch.
And by then we were good friends—’’Bob”
and “Bill.” So one day I just got to him; I said,
“I love our association and all, but,” I said, “I
know you’re—” like he would take of f from
Twin—that’s quite a ways (a hundred miles, a
hundred ’n’ somethin’)—’’come up just to take
me fishing I said, “I want to pay ya some—I
don’t want to insult ya, but what’s right’s right.”

And he said, “Oh—oh—.”

And I said, “Well, think about it.”

So he went, and a week went by and
nothin’, and I said, “Well, did you think—?”

And he said, “Well, yeah, I guess so.”

And I said, “Okay,” and we’d been fishin’
that day, and I said, “Okay, can I pay ya for
today?”

And he said, “Okay.”

I said, “How much is it?”

And he said—we’d been out all day—I
think it was five dollars [laughs].

I said, “That’s terrible! That’s fifty cents an
hour!”

So [laughing] he said, “What do you
think?”

I said, “Well, ten—twenty,” and I insisted
on I think ten; I doubled it. And then the next
day I thought, “Well, that’s not enough,” so
then I think I got up to twenty. But he would
never—you know—and he wasn’t there for the
money. And it was just his expenses, is really
what he was accepting. Plus he had to leave
his wife at home, and I guess she was crabbin’
a little bit. And when he got, you know, paid,
why it helped a little.

But anyway, when we got the Lodge, why,
Bob—and he knew we were getting it, and
we’ve been there since, of course. By then his
well drilling, I think there’d been a big spurt of
it. There’d been a water shortage or something,
or a threat of a water shortage. And so there’d

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173

been a lot of articles in the paper, well drillers
are makin a lot of money, so a whole bunch of
people went into well drilling business. And
where he and his father had one competitor
in forty miles, they all of a sudden had ten or
twelve, so it was just nothin’. So they had it all
worked out good because we were opening
the Lodge, and I said, “How about cornin’ in
there, Bob, as fishing guide?”

And he—”Oh, wonderful, wonderful.”
And he came in, and he’s been there ever since.
And he did such a good job that— we had
a lot of manager trouble there—so we made
him a manager, and that didn’t work out. He’s
an excellent fishing guide; he’s not a good
manager. Some are, and some aren’t. And
so that was extremely delicate to unpromote
him from manager to fishing guide—back
to fishing guide—but we enlarged the title
a little more and got the money just right,
and—. So then since then, we’ve had four
or five or six or eight managers, and Bob’s
still there. In fact, when the manager leaves,
Bob’s the manager till we get a new one—till
finally about two years ago we got a guy that
fits, which is—usually somebody for every
job, if you can find them. We finally found
the right guy, and everything’s fine. But Bob’s
still there.

Then last year, my wife, Verna, who’s
very small—she’d never been fishing (salmon
fishing); she wasn’t interested. And the boys
loved it, of course. So we’d go up, and there’s a
lot of people there; you have to do it just right,
and we have guests go up. But we went up, and
many years it’s no good; it’s very poor, but last
year was pretty good, so we went up. And this
one day we went, and Verna went along. And
so the boys—I think there were the three boys
and me and Verna, and somebody else, like
her father or somebody. So I caught the first
fish (you’re allowed two), and one of the boys
caught one, and her father caught one if he

was there, and then the other boy caught one,
and then I caught one, and—. So we all filled
out—Verna hadn’t caught any [chuckles], and
she—”Meee! I’m gonna quit!”

And we—’’Bob, come and help Verna.”
But she would throw it, you know, but she’d
get caught and all this and this. And then she
just—and there’s luck in it; her line was goin’
in the right place. And just the fish grabs it or
it doesn’t; there’s a lotta luck in it.

So we’d all caught two fish, I think. So
finally—she hadn’t caught a fish! So finally,
she was ready to quit, “let’s go,” you know.
And the later in the day it gets, the worse it
gets. And so—’’Well, try it.” Well, she’ll try it
ten more times or something. None of us were
payin’ attention; we were lookin’ at somethin’
else, and maybe people across the river were
fishing and had something, so we weren’t
paying attention. So we looked, and she’s got
a fish on—oh, wow!

So, we—you know, hooray, she’s catching
a fish, and then Bob instantly said—could tell
by her line and all—he said, “That’s a big one.”
And, “Be sure the hook’s set and all,” which it
was. And you learn to fish yourself, you know;
that’s real important. Oh, that day I’d finally
hooked one and let her pull it in, you know,
’cause I felt—you know, which was pullin’ one
in, but it’s not the same. Well, anyway, this
one she hooked so she— “Oh, I hooked my
own!”—hooray, hooray!

So then we realized it was a big one, so
then—and we got a look at it, and it was a big
one.

So up there they run a—oh, you catch
a salmon, and a good one is, what, twelve
pounds is pretty good—I mean I’m happy
with a twelve-pound salmon. And fifteen is
good and twenty is very good. We caught
maybe eight fish among us before she caught
one—was, I would say, fifteen, twelve,
eighteen, twenty-one, nineteen—like that.

174

William F. Harrah

So we could see this was a big one, and
so she kept pullin’ and pullin’, and it’s twenty,
thirty minutes and got it in close, and she is
very tiny So she was—you know—pole was
way down, so we had another guide along—
well, Bob was there, but this other guide—.
So the only help she had was he got in front
of her, and she could rest her pole on his
shoulder, like this, you know. But she was
still doin’ this [reeling in], but just to keep her
from pullin’ [chuckling] her in the river!

So anyway, it came in finally, and we take
a net along, intelligently—a great big net. So
we saw it, and it was a great big fish. And we
thought, “Oh God, don’t lose that one!” And
some fish, they’ll fight right at the end, and
he kinda came in and just kinda swam in the
net, and we got him; Bob pulled him in. So it
was a huge fish. And we weighed ’im, and it
was thirty-seven pounds, ten ounces, which is
the second biggest fish ever caught up there.
Bob Cole caught a thirty-eight pounder one
time or a forty pounder, but—. And then we
care about, you know—’’Well, you didn’t catch
one in a long time, but when you did, you—.”

So we had it mounted, and then we have it
mounted; it came out—you send it away and
it takes months. And then it came back—out
to HAG, and it’s like that. And then we’ll
send it up to the Lodge, and it’ll be—we
have a barroom up there, and it’ll be in the
barroom—Verna’s name on it and the date
and all that. And then, of course, we say, “Well,
boy, took you a long time, but when you did
it, you did good.”

And now you get in a fishing conversation
about anything, she’s—”1 caught—I caught
the second biggest salmon ever—!” [Laughs]
But see, it’s her thirty-seven pounder there; he
had to weigh sixty-five, seventy pounds when
he left the ocean! It’s exciting.

Also something of interest up there, we
have the barroom, which is an extremely

popular place there, of course. And then it
was too small, so we added on, and we did it
beautifully. And we added a huge room, and
it’s almost like one now; if you didn’t know,
you’d think it was one room. And it’s the bar,
and you go in here and it’s much larger. And
we have a pool table and a Ping-Pong table,
and it’s laid out just right: it’s plenty big, and
there’s chairs for people to watch if people
are playing pool, and it’s—you know, there’s
a lot of wall space. And I started collecting
Western art some years ago just ’cause I liked
it. And I had a Russell; I remember I paid five
thousand dollars for it. And I thought, “Gee,
that’s a lotta money,” and now it’s worth forty,
I guess.

And then I got into it and got interested,
and we had this room in there, I said, “Gee,
let’s get some more.” So we started really
goin’ after the stuff. And I’d go to the sale
up in Great Falls. On Russell’s birthday or
thereabouts they have a Russell auction of
Western art up there. And we used to go—
we kinda quit going ’cause every year they’d
have two or three Russells. And there’s other
stuff, of course, that’s good, but I especially
liked Russells. They have a Russell museum
in Great Falls ’cause that was his home, and
it’s full of Russell paintings; they have several
hundred in there. And then the money from
the auction that they would make, they would
go buy some more Russells. So it just became
a defeating thing in a way. I think I was to
one auction where they didn’t even have one
Russell. Oh, and they’d have a lot of phony
stuff—this is something that he was purported
to have done, or this is a good student of his—
you know, not a real Russell. It kinda pooped
out. We watch it closely, and they know what
we want. And we say, “Hey, you got any real
Russells,” to call us up.

We’ve missed a lot, but on purpose,
because the kind of Russells I like, and as

Adventrues in Idaho

175

I’m the boss, none of the blood and thunder
where there’s a horse down with a broken
leg, or there’s a bear chewin’ the head off of
something, that kind—none of that. And we
have some real cute ones; I hope you can see
’em sometime. Like one is “Forest Friends,”
and it’s four or five deer. And there on the
background, there’s kind of a log; and on this
side there’s a little rabbit with his ears up, and
he’s lookin’ like that and the deer lookin’ at
the rabbit like that, you know. And done so
perfect, you know; they’re just—every muscle,
every head and—. One deer is kinda over
here, and there’s one deer clear in the back—
you oughta see, you know, just—that kind of
stuff we have. But we have about five or six of
his now, I think—some real good stuff.

Then we have another one that is unsigned,
and as I said earlier, I don’t like the unsigned
stuff. But it has the history on it, and I bought
it at this auction for I think— one of the
auctions—for five thousand dollars, which
at the time was—it’s a very good buy. And it’s
a Russell without question; it’s unsigned, but
the way it’s done and the history and—. What
bar is that? The bar that he hung around in
Great Falls? Anyway this friend of his owned
the bar, and it’s in the books. And the back
bar had mirrors, of course, and he said, “Hey,
Charlie, would you paint somethin’ up there
for me?” So he painted those two mirrors, and
it’s painted here and painted here, and then
up the top there’s a—I think it’s an elk. Yeah.
It’s just a beautiful thing, and the mirror, the
whole thing. And that whole thing was for
sale—the mirrors mounted, just the way it
came out of the bar. And nobody bid on it
except me to amount to anything, and I was
amazed how cheap I got it, talkin’ around—
and there’s other collectors, you know, and I
said, you know, “How come you want—’”

And he said, “Well, I have no place for
it.” He said, “My house is—” so and so. And

he said, “I couldn’t—that has to go as one
piece,” and he said, “there’s no place for—I
have no place.” And most of the collectors,
they just had no place and it was heavy and
everything.

So we took it to the Lodge and put it over
the fireplace, and it’s as though it was made
for it. We didn’t have to move anything an
inch. And you look at it, it looks like, well, you
built the fireplace to fit the paintings. And so
it’s just so beautiful, and this mirror and all.

And we have some other artists—what’s
our Number Two? He’s similar. Seltzer’s
our Number Two. We have about three of
his. Then we have one Remington, but the
Remington’s a bronze.

Seltzer has one I just love; I got it at the
Great Falls auction, It’s painted on an elk skin.
The elk skin is mounted on a board, And it’s
a painting of an elk. It’s just an extremely rare
thing. And this beautiful—it sounds kinda
corny, but it’s—. I think we have three or four
Seltzers and the one Remington and four or
five Russells.

I didn’t tell ya how you get in there, did
I. Well, it’s a nineteen hundred-foot strip,
which scares a lot of people— you do go
down through and, you know—but the pilots,
I think they’ve made two thousand landings
in there now with no trouble. And we have a
Twin Otter airplane, which is two engine and
is designed for that.

There’s a real cute story on that. Before we
bought the Lodge, we had a King Air, which
wasn’t really the plane; it was borderline—you
could take it. And we had a Queen Air and
King Air, and they weren’t really that type of
plane, and we were looking around; we didn’t
know what we wanted. And so I was at the
Lodge (this is a real interesting story), and
I looked up— I heard a plane—I looked up,
and it was a Twin Otter.

176

William F. Harrah

Well, an Otter is made by DeHaviland of
Canada, and it’s a backwoods plane. And there
was an Otter with a single engine. Then when
they put two engines, they called it the Twin
Otter. And it’s a real awkward-lookin’ thing.
It has a big wing and a big fuselage, and the
wheels below, and the wheels don’t retract,
and it’s real awkward.

And I looked up, and here’s this big plane,
and I thought, “Well, that’s an interesting
plane.” I saw it wasn’t a homemade thing; it
was a well—you know. I thought, “Gee, what
is it?” And I could see they were circling, and
they landed on the strip. It’s a state strip, but
it’s just a half a mile, so I went rushin’ over to
the strip. And here’s the Otter, and I was oh
[mouth dropped] like that. And the pilot got
out and said, “Hello. Mr. Harrah here?”

And I said, “Yeah.”

And he said, “Well—” (I’m just lookin’ at
the plane like a kid, you know), and he said,
“Well, we’re from Twin Otter of Canada, and
this is Twin Otter, and we’re making a tour of
United States.”

And I said, “Well, how did you happen to
come here?”

And he said, “Well, we were in Boise and
asked if there’s anybody might be interested
in one of these, and somebody said, ‘Well,
that Harrah in the Middle Fork might—he’s
got some money; he might.’” So “Well, do you
want to take a ride?”

And I said, “Gee, I sure do!”

And so we took of f, and we flew
somewhere. And they had a real pro pilot.
And so he said, well, get up in the seat beside
him, which I did. And he, “You wanta fly?”

And I said, “No, no, I can fly a little plane;
this isn’t my stuff, but I’d like to ride up here
and see what you do.” So we flew, and we went
somewhere and landed, and then we came
back.

And so we come in, and it’s a nineteen-
hundred-foot strip. So we came in, and he
said, “I’m gonna show you how this thing
can land and stop.” He said, “This is really
a show-off stop.” So he came in, and as he
landed, he flew real slow—gee, he was down
to forty miles an hour, something like that,
when he landed. And he put on the brakes,
and he reversed the props at the same time, so
we landed and stopped in about two hundred
feet.

So I said, “My, wow, that’s something! Gee,
that’s unbelievable!”

So he said, “Okay,” he said, “what would
you like to do now, Mr. Harrah?”

And of course, there’s where we got in, up
there. So I said just what he wanted me to say.
I said, “Well, taxi up to the other end of the
runway.”

And he said, “That’s too far to taxi; I’ll
fly.” So he revved it up and then let the brakes
go, and we just jumped up in the air. And we
flew eight hundred feet or so; then he put it
on again.

So [laughing] I said, “We can get together
on the numbers?” I said, “You just sold an
airplane.” And then we did, of course, and the
price was, I think, five hundred somethin’—
five hundred thousand dollars. But it’s a very
large—it’s nineteen seats, and it has a big cab.
And course, you can haul—we haul old cars
in it and things.

And then surprisingly, they were extremely
popular. We got one of the very first ones. And
we flew it several years, and they came out
with a later model. And we knew the later
model was coming out, so we ordered it. And
so when we got it, then we sold the other one.
And we sold the first one for more than we
paid for it and enough to buy this new one
’cause they were just—like in Alaska and all,
which is where our other one went, and then

Adventrues in Idaho

177

got cracked up, up there, which was pilot
error— those were super planes.

But then I mentioned the car—we have
antique cars there, which fit really, you know,
good in there. And you do have to go from
the airport, so we have Jeeps and Land Rovers
and that sort of thing for general use. But
then we also have (let me see, what do we
have now?) Pope Hartford, 1911; and a ’26
Chevrolet station wagon; and a 'em—I think
we have a Model T— Model T bus, a 1914 bus.
I think that’s all we have, and then I think we
have three pieces, plus the other, you know.
And a person’s first trip, we meet ’em at the
airport with either the Model T bus or the
Pope Hartford. And it’s a little dirt road over
to the Lodge, and we have a bridge there; you
land on one side of the river, and the Lodge is
on the other. But we have a bridge we put in
that’s a wonderful bridge. That was fun doin’
that because there’s a lot in buildin’ bridges,
and this is a steel bridge, but we put logs on
it so it looks like a wooden bridge, except you
can see the suspension. It’s the prettiest bridge
on the river—very artistic. And it’s big enough
for a Model T bus or a Pope Hartford.

It sounds neat for a place that’s supposed to be
just purely business.

Yeah, uh-huh. Yeah, it is—well, it’s so
much fun—people cornin’ down the river,
and their first trip, you know, and they think
they’re in the middle of nowhere, and they
come along, here’s an old Pope Hartford
and—. Never forget one; there’s usually boat
parties, there’s three or four boats. And we’re
out by the swimming pool one day; it was a
beautiful day, and there were six or eight of
us in our swimming suits out there. I think
we were having a buffet lunch and drinkin’
our beer or our vodka or whatever, and a

boat party came along, and they were kind
of a do-it-yourself boat party—two or three
kids or teenagers or twenty-year-olds. And
the first boat— and it was so fun—one of
’em looked and [gasps, mouth open] — and
he turned around and yelled. And the other
boat wasn’t in sight yet, but they could hear.
He said, “Hey, Joe! Wait till you get here and
see how the other half lives” or “other rich
people live!” And it is, I love to close my eyes
because you come around, and you see nothin’
but backwoods, you know— rocks and trees
and no civilization whatsoever. And you
come around, and we have a beautiful lawn,
a beautiful swimming pool, and beautiful
Lodge, you know; and you just can’t believe
it!

What’s the real purpose of the Lodge, now ?

Well, we have to have a business purpose,
of course; but primarily—and it is, it is the
true business purpose. Of course, the rules
are so strict now, it’s very difficult; but it was
to entertain our good customer. There is an
elk season up there and a deer, or course. Deer
is nothin’, but elk is pretty rare. We take some
of our good customers hunting up there, and
some of our good customers on boat parties,
plus our stars. Many of our stars have been
there. Jim Nabors’s been there many times,
and John Denver’s been there, and— oh, tryin’
to think who hasn’t been there. Sammy Davis
hasn’t been there [chuckling]; it’s not his kind
of thing. Bill Cosby’s goin’ next month. It’s
great for families. We got a lot of our stars up
there, and they just love it. Paul Anka wrote
a song in there. So they’ve all been there just
about. You can almost tell by—like Sammy
Davis doesn’t like to get out of New York or
Beverly Hills, you know. But depending, like
Jim Nabors has been there six or eight times.

178

William F. Harrah

But it’s very difficult now, unfortunately,
with the new tax laws. And we can do it, but
it’s like you take Jim Nabors up there, and you
have to talk about his new contract, which
is phony as can be because we—you know,
that isn’t where you talk about contracts, you
know In fact, many of’em, you don’t even talk
contract; you just go on year after year. The
money’s adjusted to whatever it should be,
and it’s just no discussion at all, especially with
our relationship with our stars. Like Sammy
Davis, we’ve never talked money yet with ’im.
We gave him raise after raise after raise and
not—we have a top figure. Sammy’s been at
it as long as we’ve had a top figure, so there’s
nothin’ to talk about; just how many weeks
he’s gonna work. That’s it.

But you can see how much I have to do
in Idaho—goin’ to Sun Valley and the various
things there, and Pettit, and Stanley and all the
things there, and Middle Fork, and goin’ down
the river, salmon fishing and—. I’ve been up
there for the hunting season. One wife of mine
liked to hunt. I just don’t; I hunted in the old
days, when I got talked into it. remember
every animal I killed, and I regret it; I just
don’t like—. And I’d still fish, and peopled
say, “Well, how come?” You know, you catch
a salmon, you’re killin’ a salmon, and you kill
a deer—what’s the difference? I don’t know,
just a salmon’s a fish, which, I don’t know,
they—I can’t picture a fish even thinking up
there. You know, I think they’re all instinct
or something, which maybe my thinking is
faulty; but a deer’s an animal and it has—you
know. I remember I killed a antelope. And
there was the papa and the mama, and I killed
the stag or whatever it is, you know. And it
was—I didn’t hit it good; I hit it in the leg and
broke its leg and it was tryin to get up, and
the other was there—what’s the matter?— and
just—you know, I spoiled a little happy family
there. I’ve regretted it ever since, So I didn’t

do that; I only went one year, just ’cause I got
talked into it. And there is a race, and I respect
’em, you know; if they want to do it, fine. But
there are hunters, you know, and, “Hey, you
want to go kill somethin’?” And it’s okay, and
then it they wanna, it’s their thing, not mine.

A Love Affair
with Automobiles

Few material things have been
as important to America as the
automobile. The manufacture of
the automobile was the root of our
industrial growth, and for decades
now it has been the central support
of our economic growth/economy.

We are all tied to the automobile by
history, business, by emotion. The
automobile deserves to be preserved
and remembered.

William F. Harrah

Would you comment?

Okay. I didn’t write that. Well, I agree with
it. Ken Purdy—I think I mentioned him one
time, didn’t I?—the writer and the car guy
that I like very much. He’s gone now. Really
a brilliant man. He did an article, first article
on me at HAC about some cars; and then he
asked me my philosophy, and I said, “Huh?”
So he wrote that out, and he said, “Do you
agree with it?”—which I really believe in it,
but he could talk better than I could.

What about the cars?

Why don’t you start with the first car that you
remember, and how you felt about it, and how
you got interested in cars — collecting, or first
driving. Then, you were at one time thinking
about having a career as a car dealer. Just kind
of the history of your interest.

I don’t remember what is the first car
I remember. I can remember, let’s see—we
had a 1916 Chalmers, which I think we
bought in 1917. My father was pretty good
at that—in buying good used cars. But I can
remember that in ‘17, 50 I was six years old.
And I remember other cars of the period;
just I was really interested in cars, course.
I remember the family cars better. We had
the Chalmers; then about the same period
we had a Mitchell roadster. My mother
had a Scripps-Booth. Every family car we
ever had I have a duplicate—or we have a
duplicate of it in the Collection, just for old
time sake. Then, there’s just so many cars,
it’s hard to—.

180

William F. Harrah

It might just be kind of fun for you to think back
and decide which car you really fell in love with,
or whether you fell in love with automobiles as
an abstract.

No, I liked—and all you can identify with
is what you have contact with. And as we
lived in Venice in this period, there weren’t
too many nice cars in that area. So the nice
cars are the fancy cars that existed, but I
didn’t know about, because they didn’t—.
But I remember a Packard Twin Six that was
in our area—or I saw in our area. The man
didn’t live there, but he drove by. And I can
still remember that car the day I saw it, and
I knew what it was. I’d heard about it, but
twelve-cylinder car, wow! And for years, a
Chummy roadster— that was a roadster with
a little back seat—and people said, “What
would you like if you could have anything you
wanted?” For years it was a Packard Twin Six
Chummy roadster.

Then our first Franklin was very
impressive. That was 1922. And my father
had been tryin’ to buy a Franklin for several
years, a good used one, and they were a very
popular car, very expensive, and very high
quality, and because of that there just weren’t
any good used ones available. So I remember
he (what’s the word you use when you’re
tryin’ to make a decision and you can’t do it
and you worry about it—what’s the word?)
agonized. If he ever agonized, he agonized
over that; buyin’ that Franklin and payin’,
I think it was thirty-two hundred dollars.
And I don’t think he’d ever paid over fifteen
hundred for a car in his life, or probably less.
And thirty-two hundred at one whack! But
he just thought and thought and thought, and
finally he said, “By golly, I’m gonna buy it,”
and he did. So that was our first new car. And
although they were known as an old man’s
car and they didn’t perform too great, but as

you got to know them and as I grew up with
them, I gained respect for them. Found that
although they weren’t as fast as some cars,
they were very high quality and there was a
good reason for their being.

That was the family car—the Franklin in
’22. And then I think about ’24-’25, I got a
Model T Ford with another kid— just an old
one—that we played with. Really was just a
plaything—we didn’t really drive it on the
street; we were too young, anyway.

Then I wanted a car very badly, and in ’25,
we bought another Franklin, sedan. And then
I wanted a car, and my sister wanted a car, and
my father (I don’t know, I never did figure
out that deal) —he bought another Franklin
touring car, same model, but it was a touring
car. And that was for my sister and I to use,
which wasn’t our kind of a car and it really
didn’t work—it just kinda worked, ’cause he
also used the car, so it was a three-way deal.
And there was a constant turmoil about who
was gonna get to use the car.

So then in ’26, we moved to Hollywood,
and I started in Hollywood High School, and
it was some distance. Prior to that I could go to
high school on the streetcar; it was very easy.
But in ’26 we moved to Hollywood, and it was
several miles to school, and I really needed a
car, which I didn’t come out and tell him—I
hinted about it, and finally he agreed.

And I got a ’26 Chevrolet roadster, which I
can remember very clearly the day we bought
it and the day it arrived and the boxcar on the
train and getting it out of the train and getting
it home and all—that’s just like yesterday. That
was my first car. It was a pretty good car, for
the period. I dolled it all up. All of this—see,
the reason I’m hesitating, this has all been
done so many times. Should I do it again?

Well, we’ll try to get as much detail in here as
possible. Tell now about the Chevrolet.

A Love Affair with Automobiles

181

Oh yeah. I didn’t do any mechanical work
on it, but—oh, maybe a little—I could adjust
the valves, but—. I left it real stock; it’s the only
stock car [chuckling] I think I ever had. But I
dolled it all up appearance-wise. I lowered it,
and I had special wheels which were an extra
that came with the car, but I painted them a
pretty color. And I had a lot of nickel work
done on it—nickel plated the headlights, and
I nickel plated the dashboard. And all those
things I did myself in a way, like the headlight,
I’d take it off and take the shell, separate it
from the reflector, and take it down to the
plater, and he’d nickel plate it, and then I’d put
it back together and put it on the car—I did
all of that.

Then that’s the days of spotlights and
roadlights and things, which still are, but
they were a big thing then. And I remember
the Chevrolet, I think it had twenty-six lights
on it. course in stock it had five lights—two
headlights, two sidelights, and one taillight—
but I added roadlights and spotlights and
running board lights and then another
taillight and another stoplight and—. And I
wasn’t the only one; it was kind of the thing to
do in those days—to light your car up pretty
good.

And also I think I had eleven horns on it,
something like that. It came with one horn,
and then there were very fancy horns. It was
a cow kind of a horn—sounded like a cow
mooing, and then they had a Spartan (I forget
the name)—it’s a kind of a trumpet horn that
was electric, and it played a tune—da cia da
cia., something like that. I had one of those,
and they were quite expensive. I think they
were around thirty-five dollars. And I just
saved my money and bought one; I wanted
one so badly. And I was about the only—a
lot of Lincolns and things had those on ’em,
but I was about the only Chevrolet with those
horns. But it was a curio, cute little car. And

I had a special exhaust pipe on it. And I
remember it would go fifty-five miles an hour,
and I drove it fifty-five miles an hour all the
time. And, of course, I got a lot of tickets, but
I never had any accidents; I was a very good
driver. And like fifty-five in Hollywood with
two-wheel brakes sounds kinda crazy, but
there really wasn’t too much traffic then so—.
About all you had to really watch out for was
the police. And they weren’t really too active.

Then I drove it to a football game one
time, and I didn’t have a special lock on it. And
any Chevrolet key would work it, and—or I
may have left the key in the ignition, although
I never did that, but I kinda think I may have
that time ’cause I was late to the game, and
I was running, and I was quite an ardent
football fan. But anyway, it was stolen, and
when it was recovered, it had been stripped
of all the lights and the—what else was gone?
It was stripped of about anything you could
get off of it in a hour. But most of it was there.
But it was recovered, and then I—it was my
own fault. So I didn’t have any money, and my
father knew it was my own fault, so he didn’t
help me much. But I pieced together; I got a
pair of headlights here, and I got a pair of this
and that there and put it together, so it was
an acceptable car. And I sold it. I forget what
I started driving then. I think I was without
a car for a little while. And then I got sick,
so I was out of action for about a year. Then
when I came back, I got a ’29 Ford. It was
really a need. And my father was real nice
that time; it was time for another car, and
he took me down and bought me just about
what I wanted. And that’s when I wanted to
step up in class and get a—he said, “What do
you want?”

And I said, “Well, a Chrysler 72,” which
was a fifteen-hundred-dollar car.

And he said, “Well, who do you know—”
he told me that when I was a little boy, that

182

William F. Harrah

anything that my friends had I could have. So
in the car he said, “What do you want?”

And I said, “A Chrysler.”

He said, “Well, who do you know has a
Chrysler?”

I said, “Well, nobody.”

He said, “Who do you know that has a
equivalent?” And I said Paul Graid, who had
an Auburn. And he said, “But Paul Graid isn’t
your close friend. He’s just an acquaintance.”
So then I named another boy that had a nice
car. And he wasn’t a close friend. He said,
“Well, what does Todd Brown have?” Well, he
had a Ford. “What does Harry Clamp have?”
Well, he had a Chevrolet. So my father said,
“Well, that’s the kinda car you should have—
in that class.” He says, “You can get whatever
you want, but it has to be in that class,” so I
picked the ’29 Ford.

And I dolled it all up. I did a real good
job on it. And I did the work myself; i put on
special wheels and overhead valves, it was
about a sixty-mile-an-hour car, and when I
finished with it, it’d do eighty miles an hour.
That’s the one where I really got arrested every
week. [Chuckles] And I told you that story,
didn’t I? [I think you did.] Yeah, that Harrah
in Juvenile Court and all that.

I worked in a parking lot in Venice in
1926 for my father, which I really loved.
We lived in Hollywood, and he owned the
parkin’ lot in Venice, and I wanted to go to
work there. And, well, it’s too far, but I went
down every Saturday and Sunday. And I
went home at night, so I’d go down Saturday
in the morning and be there; things didn’t
get going till maybe nine or ten. But I had to
take the streetcar from near where I lived in
Hollywood clear down to Santa Monica down
to Venice, which was a good hour or so. And
then at night I would go back and—back and
forth. But I remember I think I got fifty cents
an hour. And we worked twelve to fourteen

hours a day, so I made real good money for a
kid.

But the important thing was that all these
different cars came in, and I was the only
kid could drive them all. And the reason is
because I d read up on all of’em; before they
even came in, I knew the shift on a Dodge, and
I knew the shift— most cars had a standard
shift, but there were a few oddballs like
Franklin and Dodge and Buick, they shifted
differently. Also the Model T Ford—I’d never
driven a Model T. I’d read in the book how
to drive it, and I had to teach myself how to
drive a Model T which wasn’t easy to do. But
I did it. I could drive a Model T today, but
it was—you have to hold the clutch halfway
down, which is real tricky at first. We were
surrounded by railroad tracks of the Pacific
Electric; and I remember the first time I drove
one, I couldn’t stop it, and I drove right over
the railroad track. And the other kids were
lookin’ at me like kind of weird, and I didn’t
want to admit I couldn’t drive it, so I said
I—some goofy story like I did it on purpose
[laughs.] “Why?” I wanted to see how it rode
or somethin’, but—. I remember an awful lot
of cars then; that was really fun.

Then in Hollywood, at Hollywood High
School I worked in a parkin’ lot there during
school, and that was in the late twenties.
And that was a real good experience because
it was next to a theater, and our trade like
the matinees was—well, matinee, we had
a show; but then we had the shoppers. But
at night it was all theater people, and that’s
when the Packards and the Lincolns and the
Duesenbergs came in, and the Cords and—.
I just loved my job. And I would’ve paid them
for workin. That’s the one where I got paid
double.

That’s one of my favorite stories. Everybody
got fifty cents an hour, and we were all even
(there was about six or eight of us). But I loved

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183

my job so much—plus there were some tips,
pretty good tips—I mean a quarter and half
a dollar— that I would—a car would drive
in, and we would go up. We’d sell ’em the
ticket ’cause we were issued tickets, which was
customary, and they were numbered, so you
couldn’t cheat. And you would sell the man
with—fifty cents for a park. I remember it
was fifty cents, which was pretty high in those
days. And then you’d put the ticket on the car
and you’d give him a ticket, and you’d get in
the car and drive it down and park it, and then
come back and do it over again. And because I
liked it so much, plus the tips, I guess, I would
run real—all the kids’d run, but I’d run real
fast. And I could drive so good that I could
drive a car down and back it in, just in one
motion—just go swish-swish [gesture]—no
matter what I was driving and be out of the car
and up. And so I was actually parking two to
one. So the owner of the parkin’ lot—he was
a real interesting old fella, and he didn’t come
around too often. He had the manager who we
all hated. We called him “Little Caesar.” But
the owner was a real—we liked the owner, and
we hated the manager. So he came around one
time, or several times, and saw me working.
So he told the manager to pay me a dollar an
hour. And the manager—uh, da da da, “All
the other boys get fifty cents; why should he
get a dollar?”

And he said, “’cause he does twice as
much work.” So he did; they paid me a
dollar an hour, which I just loved. And we
worked from, say, seven o’clock at night to
eleven—yeah, that was it. (Was that right?
No, the show started at eight-something’;
so say, we worked seven-thirty to about ten-
thirty. That’s what?—three hours.) It was a
four-hour shift, so say, seven to eleven. And
the boys got two dollars (that was it) for the
four hours. But I could work seven to nine,
and I got two dollars, ’cause all you did from

nine o’clock on—or maybe it was eight-thirty
when the show started, but there’re always a
few stragglers—you just watched the cars till
the show broke, and then—. We did, like most
places, they’ll just let you come and get your
car and not bother, but we bothered with the
tickets. They kinda had to match up; and of
course, if they didn’t, we usually let ’em go,
but, we just didn’t let ’em go.

But we’re supposed to be talkin’ about cars
[chuckles], but I remember that

This is part of your experience with cars. It’s
worth discussing.

Yeah, I remember one time, the first
time I ever drove a Duesenberg, a man came
in—that’s one of my favorite stories. And
there weren’t too many Duesenbergs, and he
came—. So very rare. And so this beautiful
blue Murphy—we have one just like it, of
course, only a different color—Murphy sedan
came in, a real nice man driving it. There was
a premier at the Chinese Theater which was
across the street. Quite often, we got cars
parked there because it was so crowded at the
premier, and we were only a block away, and
it was pretty neat. But then there was—you
know, they had the kleig lights and all that.
And all the stars would drive up in their limos
and town cars and get out, and the stars, the
lights—you’ve seen it on movies, I’m sure. So
this fella came in his Duesenberg, and he was
in a tuxedo, and his girlfriend and another
couple, and they were all dressed real nice.
So he looked us over; there were about six
kids standin’ there ’cause it was—I think our
cars were all in, and we were five or six of us
there. And they were all pretty sloppy ’cause
when you worked, you could dress any way
you wanted; but I had on my moleskins pants,
I remember, which were dirty. We all—you
know, moleskins, you didn’t wear ’em till

184

William F. Harrah

they got dirty; that was the style. But I had
on a white sweater and my collar outside the
sweater. And it was a pretty white sweater,
and it was real clean. I looked real neat. So
I looked ten times better than the rest of the
kids. So he said, “Come here.” So I went over
to him.

I said, “Yes, sir.”

And he said, “We’re goin’ to the Chinese
Theater,” and he said, “here’s what I want to
do.” He said, “We got this Duesenberg, and,”
he said, “I want to drive up in front. I want to
show my car off” (he was real frank), “and get
out.” So he said, “Here’s what I’d like to do.”
He said, “You drive up, you drive us up, and
let us out, and then bring the car back here,”
and he told me where to hide the key; it was
under the right front tire, I think. “Lock
it up ’cause,” he said, “wee re gonna be late.”
And he said, “That way, why, we’ll drive up in
our Duesenberg.”

And I said, “Oh, gee, that’d be fine. Okay.”
And he gave me a dollar tip. So I got in; I’d
never driven a Duesenberg before. We’re lined
up, you know—the traffic—and I squeezed
in, got my place. And I knew how to start a
Duesenberg, but I was so afraid that I might
kill the engine, so I kept it revved up fairly
well, but I didn’t speed it up so much that it
was goofy, where it would bug him. But I just
had a horror of getting up in front and killing
the engine.

But anyway, we drove up, and I’m in my
white—and all the lights and the zzz and the
microphone [gesture to mouth]— “Who’s
this,” you know; and they go out, in they went.
So I pulled out and didn’t kill the engine—I
was real proud of myself—and started down
on Hollywood Boulevard. And I started to
turn around and go back to the parking lot.
And then I thought, “Well, gee whiz, he’s in
that show; he’s gonna be in there for four
hours. [Laughing] Maybe I ought to just

go a little further.” So I did. I went down on
Sunset Boulevard and drove. And I didn’t
hot rod it at all; I’m real proud of myself that
way. But I drove it along real dignified, and
course, other cars were cornin’ alongside,
’cause Duesenbergs were pretty rare. And
they’re lookin’ at me, you know; and I looked
straight ahead—I didn’t look to the left or the
right— and just drove. And once in a while I’d
hear, “Ah, that’s Bill Harrah! Hey, Bill!” And
I’d drive—. I drove out on Sunset, I think clear
out to the Strip, and turned around and came
back. Then I was gonna go somewhere else,
and then there would have been ten or fifteen
minutes. And I got to thinkin, I was kinda
guilty, so I took it back and parked it and did
what he told me to. That was unbelievable—a
Duesenberg in those days—it was bigger and
far ahead of everything else. But we had Rolls
Royces in there, and we had Bugattis—.

And quite often, you could park your
own car (we allowed you to), but we also
told ’em—and we had permission—to tell
’em it was against the rules because a lot of
people come in and maybe just be a Buick or
something, and “Oh, I want to park my own
car,” because it was new.

And we’d say, “Oh, no, sir, that’s the rules—
don’t permit that.” And one out of ten about
would drive out, and the other nine would
grumble, and then they’d let you do it. And
the reason for that was, not that we wanted to
drive the car, but it would take them forever
to get around to where they were supposed
to be, and then when they backed it in, and
they’d be crooked, and it just really messed up
everything. So we just said, no. But if a person
really insisted—or, if they tipped [laughs],
well, they could park their own car.

I remember a fella came in in a Bugatti
Type 35, which is a real racing type car,
although you could drive it on the street. But
he came in and “Rrrrrrr” [making noise of

A Love Affair with Automobiles

185

car]— said, “Where do you want it?” And
there’s one I didn’t say ’cause I was afraid I
couldn’t drive it, ’cause I’d never driven a
Bugatti, and they’re entirely different or quite
different. So I said, “Right here, Sir!” and
showed him where to put it.

That’s when I started goin to auto shows. I
can’t remember my first auto show, but it had
to be in the ’20s. My father was just wonderful;
he was a great father. He knew that I loved
auto shows, and there was one every year in
L.A., and we lived in Venice at first. And it
was quite a ways, but he went out of his way
and took me into the auto show and tagged
around with me till he’d get bored. He liked
cars but not—he wasn’t nutty; he just—. I’d
spend all day, just about, and he’d patiently
wait or say, “I’ll be here or there.”

I’d go with maybe a kid friend, get
literature from every car, which, of course,
kids still do that today. And sometimes they
wouldn’t want to give you the literature ’cause
you were just a kid, so we knew where they hid
it usually, and we went around in back and got
it. And we’d have arms like that [gesture full]
full. I kept that for years, and then moving
around so much, I lost it. I think somebody
threw it out. But course we have copies today
in the Collection; in our library, we have just
about everything. But it would be nice to have
had all those that I collected myself.

But the car story ties in—this is various
periods, like we re up to ’29 Ford, and then
I kinda jump along—I mean the family cars
were Franklins, still. Our last family Franklin
was a ’28, which we have a duplicate of. Then
’29,1 had my Model A. My sister got a Model
A Ford roadster. And we had the ’28 Franklin
sedan. And then the Depression hit, so we quit
buying family cars (my father did) until—he
drove that of Franklin until, I think, ’36, ’cause
I went from the ’29 Ford to a ’32 Ford, which
I bought in ’33. And then in ’34, I bought a

’33 Ford. And then in ’36,1 bought a Lincoln
Zephyr; I was makin some money. And then
I bought another Lincoln Zephyr for my
mother, and that became the family car and
replaced the Franklin. The ’28 Franklin went
on to an associate of my father’s.

That Lincoln Zephyr—that was very
advanced for its time. It was twelve-cylinder,
and then the Lincoln Zephyr was just really
a glorified Ford. But the name, the Lincoln
part, was just a cash-in on the Lincoln
prestige; but the Zephyr was more Ford than
it was Lincoln. But the Ford was a V-s at that
time, and the Lincoln Zephyr was a Twelve,
and it would—many Ford parts in it, like
the transmission was like a Ford V-s and
the cylinder—I think the pistons were like
a Ford V-8, except there were twelve of ’em
instead of eight of’em. And the rear end was
like a Ford V-8. But because the car was very
streamlined, it was very fast; it was only 110
horsepower, but it would go over a hundred
miles an hour. That’s the one I drove when
I first came to Reno. I came in my Lincoln
Zephyr, which I just loved. I drove it over a
hundred thousand miles. And I hopped it up,
but not much.

You got into the insides of these yourself?

No, not really. I’d doll ’em up like the—I
had—the Zephyr had special paints, special
exhaust, and I put a super charger on it. I
didn’t do that; I went and found a man that
could put a super charger on a Zephyr and
had it done. But it didn’t work out very good.
So then I went back to stock carburetors, but
I think I had aluminum heads which were
stock; but I think I did something to them—
not much—’cause it would go a hundred and
five, but I think I got a hundred and ten out
of it. It held the road very good. I drove it to
Reno many times.

186

William F. Harrah

And actually in those days, when I was so
young—when I was young—. I remember one
time I worked in Venice—that’s when I was
gettin’ ready to open up here; so I was signing
leases and things, but I was still running my
business in Venice. And I always drove; I
didn’t fly It just didn’t enter my mind; you just
drove if you wanted to go somewhere. But I
remember I had to come to do something, and
I had to go back. So anyway, I worked a shift in
Venice, and then I got in the Zephyr and drove
up here and signed the paper or whatever I
had to do, and drove back to Venice, and I
think maybe worked a shift. But, you know,
I’m sure you’re familiar with what you can do
when you’re real—your early twenties, you can
really move around. And I thought nothin’ of
it. I didn’t even tell anybody, but somebody
figured I—’’Well, how did you get—?

I said, “Well, I drove.”

“Well, what do you get? But you came
right-.”

“Yes, course. I had my business done, so
I drove back to Venice.”

But the only disadvantage I had, I drank.
But I didn’t do too bad on the drinkin’. But I
just loved driving so much that it wasn’t work,
it was fun. Drivin’ that Lincoln Zephyr down
the road ninety miles an hour was heaven.
And I had so much fun with the cops in those
days that—and I didn’t like gettin arrested,
but it was kinda fun. I remember one time up
by Bridgeport, there’s a real flat road up there
where it straightens out after you go through
the curves. Before you get into Bridgeport,
there’s about, oh, ten miles there, or six miles,
just almost straightaway. And that’s when the
California cops used Chevrolets. And it was
a six-cylinder Chevrolet, and it was a joke
among us hot-rodders that they would—you
know—eighty miles an hour was all they’d
do— the police car. And of course, everything
we drove was faster.

So I was cruising along at ninety-five or
something on my way to Bridgeport, and I
looked in the rearview mirror, and I could
see the black and white way back there. So I
thought, “Well, he’s after me.” It always enters
your head, outrun ’em, and I thought, “Why,
that’s dumb.”

So then I slowed down—I wasn’t sure
what it was (that was it). They had other
cars besides Chevies. So I saw the black and
white; so I slowed down to about ninety, and
he wasn’t doin’ any good. So then I slowed
down to about eighty, and he held his own.
So then I slowed down, I think seventy, and
he moved up. So finally I slowed way down,
and here he came, you know. And I was real
honest with him. He said, “Do you know how
fast you were goin’?”

And I says, “Yeah, ninety, till I saw you.”
I said, “Then I slowed down to seventy.”

And he said, “Well, why?”

And I said, “So you could catch me!”
[Laughing] And it struck him kinda funny; he
didn’t laugh. I think he even let me go, which
was very rare in those days for that speed.

Then my favorite one is the one where
I got stopped in— it’s between Bishop and
Mohave. (There’s three or four little towns in
there; I can think of it, but it’s not important.)
But anyway, I was goin’ through there, and I
was goin’ —and usually I watched, and usually
I didn’t get caught, but somehow I got caught,
and I was doin’ eighty or ninety.

So then I was reading, and of course, I read
the LA Times religiously. And there was an
article in there on speed, and they mentioned
this little town and the judge there. And he
made speeches against speeders and reckless
driving, and so and so and so and so, and that
he was gonna start puttin’ people in jail (these
speeders), that the fines didn’t work, so on and
so on. And this was where I’d gotten caught.
So I thought, “Oh brother, I’m in trouble!”

A Love Affair with Automobiles

187

And then next day, thered be a piece in the
paper about this judge, and good for him—he
was gonna slow down this slaughter, and da da
da da da—you know how it goes. They still do
it. So I got worried and worried, and I had to
go next Tuesday. So I thought, “Well, boy! He’s
gonna put me in jail!” So I thought, “Well, I’ll
take”—you know, normal fine’s twenty dollars
or somethin’, or fifty at the most—I thought,
“Well, I’ll take a hundred.” Then I worried
some more, and I thought, “Well, I’ll take two
hundred.” And I worried some more—’’Well,
I’ll take five hundred.” I thought, “Well, gee,
maybe I better take a thousand,” which wasn’t
too easy, but I—you know—I maneuvered it
all right. And I think I had it here and here
and here [gesture like a money belt]. And I
went up to him, and it was a little justice of the
peace, and I went in and gave him my ticket.
And nobody there—just him, you know.

So he said, “Okay, court’s in session.
Ninety miles an hour—hey!” And he said,
“You go ninety?”

And I said, “Yes sir” [whispers].

And he said, “What kind of a car do you
have?”

And I said, “A Lincoln Zephyr.”

And he said, “Well, do you have a
Columbia rear axle on it?” That was a two-
speed rear axle, which, when you put it in the
high side of it, it would really move along, and
it would slow the engine down; it was like an
overdrive. So it was very quiet, and the car
would go just a little faster— not much, but
it quieted it way down. So he said, “Do you
have a Columbia rear end on that?”

And I said, “Yes, I do.”

And he grinned, and he said, “I have a
Ford V-B with one of those on it.” And he said,
“The darn things—you’re goin’ eighty miles
an hour ’fore you know it, aren’t you?”

And I said, “That’s right!” [Whispers]
[Laughs.]

And he said, “The least—I’m sorry, son—
but the least I can do is ten dollars. [Laughs]
Is that okay?”

And I said, “Yes sir.” And then I had a
terrible time tryin to find the ten dollar bill
without pullin’ out [laughing] a whole roll!
It’s funny how things work out.

But then from the Lincoln Zephyr I went
to a—that was ’36. Then I was in Reno and in
business, and 1940—(it was really ’39, the new
models’d come out) and I had some money
then. And I was in the mood for a new car,
and I’d course looked ’em all over; I knew
what everything was going on. And the La
Salle I liked—had beautiful lines—but it was a
hundred and thirty-five horsepower. And the
Packard Super Eight was a hundred and sixty
horsepower, and it was the most powerful
car you could buy in the United States; and
Duesenberg had been out of business then.
So Packard—there were I think Cadillac was
a hundred and thirty-five, and Pierce Arrow
was a hundred and thirty-five or forty; but
Packard was a hundred and sixty.

So I went down, and I didn’t really like
the looks of the Packard, but I admired the
horsepower. So I went down there one night;
I’d been out all night, which isn’t as bad as it
sounds because, you know, I worked till two
or three, and then we’d do the Golden and
wherever, and as I say, I drank a lot, but I could
still maneuver fine. So I was on my way home,
and I stopped in at—it was Brown brothers
had the Packard agency here. And—what’s the
fella’s name?—let’s see— one of the first fellas
in the gaining control from Reno. Then he
moved to Vegas. Bob Cahill was the salesman.
We still kid about that.

And he come out, and he had on a—
here I’m dressed real swingin’, and I had a
girlfriend—and he come out with his blue
double-breasted suit. And I’ll never forget he
had a hat on top of his head, a goofy-lookin’

188

William F. Harrah

hat—real dignified and a tie. And he was
the salesman. So I went in, I looked at the
Packard, and I asked a lot of questions. I knew
all about the car, but I was kinda showin off.
And he couldn’t answer too many; he was
one of those fellas that was interested in other
things, but was between jobs, so he’d become
a car salesman for a little while. So he didn’t
know too much about it, but he was a real nice
guy. So I—”1 want a demonstration.”

So we went out on South Virginia, and I’m
rr-rr-rr, and he’s holdin on, lookin’ worried.
I put the girl in the back seat; he was up front
with me. And I’m workin’ the overdrive
and everything, so he said, “Well, are you
interested?” He was real polite. And he said,
“Are you interested in this car?”

And I said [gruff], “Well, I’ll tell you what
I’ll do!”— big shot. And I guess it was for the
girl’s benefit too, and also I liked the car. I said,
“If it’ll go a hundred miles an hour, I ‘ 11 buy
it.” So South Virginia was just a two-lane road,
then; you couldn’t do it there. But where you
could was turn on the road to Virginia City.
And it gave you a little— you know, a little
downhill run there, and then where you got
where it kinda leveled out, you could actually
tell what a car would do; I’d had a lot of cars
there. And then, of course, you went into
an upgrade, but when you hit the very level
part, and by then you’d had a nice run, so
that was the ultimate the car would do. And
I remember it did a hundred and five.

So he had a big grin on his face, and I
started sweatin’ ’cause I really couldn’t afford
the car, and I knew it. And so I drove back,
and I thought, “Well, I love the car, but I can’t
afford it.” You know, I got a business, and—.
So I went in and the Brown brothers—I don’t
know—I suppose you knew them.

There were two of them, and one—I can’t
remember their names—but one of ’em was
pretty nice. And oh, the boss was really a

typical car dealer. So I didn’t want to buy the
car, so they asked what I wanted on it, and I
told ’em all the accessories, and it was a whole
bunch of ’em—spotlights and heater and
overdrive and so on, so on, so on, and so on.
So they added it all up, and it came to I think
thirty-three hundred dollars (something like
that). So they showed it to me—thirty-three
hundred. I says, “Okay, what do you take?”

And they said, mmm mmmm—you know
how car people talk— da da da. So—’’Make
an offer.”

So I thought, “Well, I don’t want the car; I
can’t afford it, so I’ll make an offer they won’t
take. So I thought, “Three thousand—well,
they’ll take that.” And I thought “Twenty-
eight hundred—they might take that.” And
I thought, “Twenty-six hundred—they won’t
take that.” I thought, “Well, I’ll go twenty-five
hundred, and I know they won’t take that.”

so I’m talkin’ to the brother, not the big
shot, the other brother. I said, “Twenty-five
hundred.”

And he looked at me like “Are you crazy?”
And he—’’Sheesh!” But he said, “I’ll go ask so-
and-so.” So he went in and asked his brother.
And he came out, and he says, “You got a
deal!” [Laughs] It was either twenty-five or
twenty-six—I forget, but it was way less than
the—.

So then I had to finance it; I didn’t have
the money. And they could do it there—that
was okay, and I had the down payment.
But they—it was really funny—and a story
about Fernet. Are you familiar with Fernet?
It’s a bitters that every bar in Reno has, and
they had in those days. And when you had
a hangover, a real bad hangover—and that’s
where I learned it, in Reno—was you go in
and have a shot of bitters. And it’s Italian, and
it’s not a—I thought it was a liquor— it isn’t;
it’s a medicine, a form of medicine. Terrible
taste. And it will, it’ll settle your stomach

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189

when nothing else will. Fernet—Fernet de
branca [Fernet Branca], I think it is. So I’d
taken Fernet—not too often, but when I—.

But anyway, they said, “We’ll draw up. the
papers for ya. And it was real long; it was in
quadruple (whatever), the girl’s typin’ away.
And “Packard Super Eight,” so and so, “and a
heater, spotlights,” so and so, da da da, special
this, special that, “seat covers,” so and so, on
and on, “clock—.” So it was pretty long. So
then went up, and I went to sign the papers;
and I really had the shakes (I’d been out all
night), plus I was nervous. So I went in and
like this, and I went to sign my name, and I
went like that [gestures shaky hands, messy
paper] all over the paper. So I ruined ’em. So
I—”Oh, I’m sorry,” and I really was.

And they said, “Oh, no, no, no problem.
We’ll have the girl do it again.”

So I went down and I waited, and it took
her quite a while (she maybe wasn’t too good)
, got ’em all—tour of ’em lined up with all the
paper in between, and she’s typin’ away, da da
da, so it’s fifteen minutes, seems like. So they
brought ’em out, and so I went over and I did
it again. And I didn’t want to tell ’em I had
this awful hangover, plus the shakes—which
I really was, so I told ’em. I said, “I’m excited.”
I said, “This is the nicest car I ever owned.”
And I said, “I’m just excited about ownin’ it.”
So I said, “I’m awfully sorry.” I said, “Make out
another set of papers and let me walk around
the block, and then I can do it, I’m sure; I’ll
relax.”

So instead of walkin’ around the block, I
went across the street, which there’s still a bar
there; I think it was Charlie’s then. But there
was a bar there, and Charlie was there, I think;
and so I went in. I said, “Give me a Fernet.”
I drank Fernet with a little whiskey. So I had
two of those; I knew what’d do it and how
to do it ’cause I’d done it before with a coke
chaser. And it would just taste awful. But in

about ten minutes, your stomach would quit
churning and your shakes’d go away; and that’s
a fact of life. In fact, I introduced my wife
to it when she has a terrible upset stomach,
which doesn’t happen too often, but when she
does—.

So anyway, I went back in and they had
the papers again. By then they’re thinkin’,
“What—we’re gonna lose this deal; the guy
can’t even write.” So all the Brown brothers are
there and everybody, and the office manager,
you know—they put ’em down; I had quite
an audience. And I just went [gesture, steady
hand, head up] like this. My ’40 Packard.
[Laughs]

So then I got into Packards; I liked
them very much ’cause they would outrun
everybody. But they were kinda funny lookin’.
So then in ’42, they came out with a good-
lookin’ Packard. I forget the model number,
but it had the same engine; well, I think it was
a hundred and sixty-five horsepower. It was
a Clipper, Packard Clipper. And of course, I
have one like it in the museum. I bought one
of those. That’s the one I cracked up on the
bridge down here and broke my neck.

Then after that—that was ’42, and I drove
that through the war; and then ’46,1 bought
another Packard, which I have one like. That
was a seven-passenger sedan, and I don’t
know why I bought a seven-passenger sedan.
But I wanted a big car— and just me and my
girlfriend; I wasn’t married or anything. And
I had this huge, big, black seven-passenger
Packard. But it would go good too; it wouldn’t
accelerate as good as the other—and I hopped
that one up pretty good. And that had an
overdrive, of course; so that would do a
hundred and ten with no trouble at all. And
I remember I bought it, and then I thought,
“You’re goofy buyin’ a big—” it was black—
big, black—you know, and here I am still in
my twenties, I guess— ’46—no, I was thirty-

190

William F. Harrah

five. Thirty-five, yeah. I had this huge car, so
kinda lookin’ at myself, well, I liked it and all,
but it’s a dumb car for a single guy.

But I went to L.A. one time, drove it
down—a friend of mine, Freddie Vogel, down
there invited me to the Rose Bowl game.
I remember by then, I’d acquired License
Number 8 on it. So this big, black Packard
with License Number 8, it looked pretty
important. (I remember it was pretty good
with the cops.)

But anyway, we went, Freddie and I and
our wives or girlfriends had gone out the
night before. So we slept late. And we got up
and we were in Hollywood, and like the game
starts at two o’clock or somethin’ and it’s one-
thirty, and we have to get out to Pasadena.
So we started out, and of course, I hate to be
late, and I was real nervous. But by then the
Rose Bowl [parade] was over and the football
crowd was gone, so there was nobody on the
roads. So we went sailin’ out there, and we got
there and I think the game had just started.

But here’s this huge parking lot and the
stadium’s full of people, and we drove in, and
of course, there were parking attendants and
police. And all the places are taken, just, you
know, I thought, “Where the hell am I gonna
park?” Just full. But being courteous, I said,
“Let me drive you up to the gate.” We had good
tickets right near the fifty-yard line, so I drove
’em right up there. And there were a whole
bunch of limos parked there—Cadillacs
and Packards and chauffeur-driven. So as I
drove up in this big, black Packard with a
License Number 8, they saw me coming. And
I dropped the friends of f; so when I pulled
around, they pulled me right over [gesture]
[laughs] with the other limos, just— I didn’t
ask; they just pulled me in there. So I got out
just like I—sometimes I can act pretty good.
So I backed it in there just like I was meant to
park there, and I got out and kinda halfway

saluted “thank-you” [laughing], went into
the game. And of course, they’re goin’ like
that [chin drops]— the chauffeur’s goin with
the other people! But I remember— and hey,
doesn’t it pay to have a low number and a big,
black car (or it was dark blue)! That was my
last Packard.

By then I’d started goin to Idaho. Well, I
had another Packard that I’d bought, a used
Packard, that I still have. That was a 1938
twelve-cylinder, convertible coupe that I got
about 1940. That was my “extra” car. I drove
it around Reno quite a bit. And I drove it
to Idaho. That was a hundred and seventy-
five—that was a twelve cylinder; they quit
building that in ’39. So when I started buyin
new Packards, the twelve was gone, and the
one-sixty was the hottest car you could buy.
This ’38 convertible coupe was a beautiful car,
and I still have it; it’s in the museum. And I
bought that from George Carr. He was a car
dealer. But that was his personal car. And I
bought from him; then he tried to buy it back,
I remember, ’cause it was such a neat car. It had
been owned originally here by Judge (can’t
remember his name). He was a retired judge
from the east. He used to play Bingo with us
a little bit. But anyway, no matter.

Then when I started goin to Idaho, I drove
the Packard convertible coupe first time, but it
was not practical for that. Then I had the limo,
which was practical—it had a lot of room,
but it just didn’t fit in Stanley, Idaho, this big,
seven-passenger limousine.

So then my next car was a ’49 Mercury,
which was a real pretty car. It had a wooden—a
station wagon. And I hopped it up, put
everything on it. I had dual exhaust and
overdrive and high compression heads,
Offenhauser heads, and special carburetors.
But it was very disappointing. I remember
it was a hundred and ten horsepower, but it
was kinda balky. And I had a terrible time

A Love Affair with Automobiles

191

gettin’ a hundred miles an hour; I don’t think
it would really do a hundred. So I—worried
me a lot, too, that, you know, I was used to
havin’ a car that would do a hundred easy, and
this Mercury, you just had to push your foot
through the floor, and it would barely do it.
So I thought, “What—.” By then the Chrysler
V-B had come out with the hemispherical
heads. And up till then, Cadillac had gone to
a hundred and sixty horsepower, which was
the hottest car you could buy, and Packard was
a hundred and sixty. And this hemi Chrysler
came out, and it was a hundred and eighty
horsepower. And it was way detuned; it was
really more horsepower than that. So it was
a wonderful engine. And it was the hit of the
year, the overheads, the Chrysler hemi. In fact,
they still use ’em in dragsters—the Chrysler
hemi. It’s a wonderful engine.

So I thought, “Gee whiz, I’ll put a Chrysler
hemi in my Mercury.” So I had a friend of
mine in Hollywood do it. And he put it in,
and he wasn’t too good a workman. He was a
friend of mine, and he hopped up a lotta hot
dragsters and things, but he did sloppy work.
He would get the engine in, but he would do
it; and he’d cut here and he’d cut there, and
it wasn’t (as we call) sanitary; it was a bum
job. So he got the engine in, and it would go
wonderful—a hundred and thirty, somethin’
like that. But the frame kinda bent and broke,
and we fixed this and we fixed that, and it was
just a lot of trouble, it would go good, but it
was just bad news.

And I’ll never forget, a friend of mine, a
car fella, Elliot Wiener (for what it’s worth,
it really doesn’t matter— the name) . But he
had some cars, and I was kinda promotin’
him to get ’em. So he invited me to dinner at
his house. And he lived in Pacific Palisades;
he had a very wonderful house and nice wife
and wonderful bunch of cars. And he had
plenty of money. The only reason he talked

about sellin ’em (and we’ve acquired quite a
few from him) was he just was getting out of
it and doing less and less.

But anyway, I was having dinner with him,
and part of the conversation i made at dinner,
I can still remember it. He said, “What do you
drive?” Oh, I’d driven up in a Mercury. And I
showed him the engine. So he’s at dinner; he
said, “How do you like that car?”

And I said, “Well, it’s wonderful. It’ll go [a]
zillion miles an hour. But,” I said, “when Max
put the engine in, why, he cut the frame, and
now I have trouble fixin’ this because it’s just
bad news.” And I says, “I don’t know what to
do!” I said, “Goin to Idaho all the time, I gotta
have a station wagon; it’s the only way to go
up there. But,” I said, “I also have to go fast.”
I said, “I just don’t know what I’ in gonna do.”

And Elliot, who was a real straight-to-it
fella, he said, “Why don’t you buy a Chrysler
station wagon?”

And believe it or not, the idea’d never
entered my mind. Chrysler was building a
very beautiful station wagon with a hemi
engine. And I just went like that—”So! Thank

I”

you!

So I came to Reno and immediately bought,
I remember it was a ’52 Chrysler wagon, which
I just loved. And I hopped it up—just a little. I
put dual carburetors on it; I put dual exhaust
and dual carburetors, and I believe it would go
close to a hundred and thirty miles an hour. I
remember I used to cruise it at about ninety,
just beautifully, and it got good gas mileage
at that speed. That was when I was on the
board of directors of the Horseless Carriage
Club—the national Horseless Carriage Club,
whose headquarters [are] in L.A. And they
had a monthly meeting, and I was on for three
years. I attended every meeting in L.A., and I
drove down every meeting [chuckles]. So that’s
thirty-six trips to L.A., and most of it was in
the Chrysler wagon which I just loved.

192

William F. Harrah

And in ’54 I bought another Chrysler
wagon, another Chrysler wagon which
wasn’t as good, it was practically the same
car, but I made a mistake. The ’52 had two
two-barrel carburetors, which was all the
carburetion the car needed. When I got the
’54,1 thought, “Well, I’ll put more on.” There’s
where I learned a lesson about carburetion.
So I put two four-barrels on. And one four-
barrel or two two-barrels would’ve done fine,
but I had two four-barrels, so I had too much
carburetion. And too much carburetion, the
car won’t run as good as it will with the proper
amount or with even a little. So the ’54 was a
little disappointment, i liked it, but it wasn’t
as good as the ’52.

So then in ’55, Chrysler came out with a
300. That was a high performance coupe; it
would do a hundred and thirty miles an hour.
So I bought one of those. And that was when
we went to the take, so it just worked out so
timely ’cause I had to run up there a lot. In my
Chrysler 300 I would really get up there and
back in a hurry.

And I have a favorite story there, as there
was no speed limit between Carson and Reno,
and of course, I drove pretty fast. And no
one bothered me, while there was no speed
limit. But I remember one time, I—around
about halfway, where those brothers have
that restaurant there—Pagnis, I was cornin’
down there at a hundred and thirty, and I
think it is—well, it was the edge of Washoe
County because this deputy picked me up.

I saw him coming, and whatever he was
driving, he couldn’t catch me, of course. So
I just kept going; there was no speed limit,
and I was driving all right. I was drivin’ good;
I wasn’t drunk or anything. So I drove on
into Reno. And when I hit the—he was still
coming, chasing me, with his red light and
everything. And I didn’t stop because I wasn’t
doin’ anything illegal. But then I got to the

first speed zone, and I don’t know—forty-five
or fifty-five (whatever it was)—and I slowed
down to the forty-five. And—so then he
caught me, and he pulled me over. So what
had I done? Nothing.

But he came out—he was a young fella and
he was hot-tempered. He was red in the face,
and he came over [waving arms, growling],
“Are you—?” And I just listened. And, “You
goin’—.”

I said, “There’s no speed—.”

“Oh, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, reckless driver!”

I said, “I—oh, I wasn’t a reckless driver.
I only passed one car from the time I saw
you.” And he was doin’ eighty, so I said, “I
never pass a car over ten miles differential.
So I passed him at ninety; then I speeded up
again to a hundred and thirty. Don’t.”

He said [gruffly], “You follow me! And so
he took me in to the sheriff’s office. So I went
in, and got in front of the sheriff’s office; and
he got me out of the—’’Come on “ you

know—he was almost rude. But I’ve learned,
fortunately, that those kind of people, you just
do what you’re told, you know. So I went in.
He says [gruffly], “Sit there.” So I sat down,
and he went in to the sheriff, who was Bud
Young, who, of course, I knew—and closed
the door. “Bu bu bu bu bu.” And I can hear and
I can see through the glass kinda. “Bu bu bu
bu yah.” And so it’s ten minutes or something.

So finally, Bud came out, and he said, “Hi,
Bill.”

And I said, “Hi, Bud.” And we shook
hands.

And Bud—he didn’t say, “I’m sorry
about this,” but he said, “Hope it wasn’t too
inconvenient for you. Go ahead” [laughs].
And now I went, and the guy’s just sittin there
like this [tense, shaking], you know. And he
actually—I think he quit his job the next week
because he was one of those go-by-the-book

A Love Affair with Automobiles

193

guys, you know. And if the sheriff is gonna
let people go, well, what the hell the sense
of tryin to enforce the law, so—. Anyway, I
walked out.

Bud was so neat. I remember whenever
he’d serve you with a paper, he’d be so
apologetic.

That was the ’55 Chrysler 300. Then is
’56 they come out with a Chrysler 300-B, and
the 300 was the horsepower. That was why it
was called the 300. And the 300-B was three
hundred and forty horsepower. And 300-C,
which I got the next year, was three hundred
and seventy-five horsepower. It was the same
car, just about, cept it had dual headlights.
But they were the hottest car on the road;
they would go a hundred and thirty miles an
hour. The hemi was very expensive to make
because of the design. And the engines like
Cadillac was using, and Ford by their Lincoln,
they were overhead valve, too, but they weren’t
hemis, so they were cheaper. So all us Chrysler
guys really loved the hemi. Then in ’59, they
abandoned the hemi and came out—and
they had another name for it, and it sounded
pretty good (it was a fancy name). But it was
the same design—they got away from the
hemi head because of costs and went to this
other design, which was just another engine.
And they called it three hundred and some
horsepower, but it really wasn’t. That was—
they built the 300 through each, I think. See, I
went through D, and then there was a E, F, C,
H; and I think that was the last, ’cause people
finally caught on it.

I was real interested in speed, of course,
and performance, and I’d been reading about
Ferrari over the years. But there were real—
see, a Chrysler 300 cost about five thousand
dollars. I’d been readin’! about Ferrari and
how they performed; they were a hundred
and forty to a hundred and fifty miles an
hour. But they were eighteen thousand

and twenty-three thousand and all sorts of
goofy numbers—so just unthinkable. Then
Ferrari started advertising a little bit in the
automotive newspapers and magazines. And
there was a dealer in L.A., in Hollywood.
What was the name of it?—huh. That’s kind
of important; I’ll get that.

So I went down there, and I went by the
agency just to look at the car. I had no thought
of buying one, but I was very tempted. So I
went in and I looked at ’em; they had several
there. And it was a beautiful car. And Richie
Ginther, who is a famous race car driver, and
was at that time, was the sales manager. He
was the whole sales force, too. But he asked
me—he came up very polite and asked me if
I wanted a demonstration. And I said, “Yes.”

So we went out, and he took me up on
Mulholland Drive in Hollywood. And I was
very familiar with Mulholland Drive because
I was raised there, and I knew what you could
do on Mulholland Drive in a ’26 Chevy or a
’29 Ford or a ’36 Lincoln. I’d been all over it,
and I knew just what you could do. And he
took me in this Ferrari over the same road
at double the speeds I’d ever ridden. And
of course, he was a super driver; he was a
Grand Prix driver. But that plus the car was
just unbelievable. And he let me drive it,
course, and it handled beautifully, and the
performance and acceleration and just— I’d
never driven a car like that. The Chrysler
300s—it made them feel like an old truck or
something. And Chrysler barely met it.

So we went back to the agency, and I was
really tempted. And I said, “How much is it?”
And it was twelve thousand, five hundred
dollars. And they only had—they came in
steel and aluminum (the Berlinetta), which I
knew. And this one I’d been driving was—and
it was red [chuckles], but it was aluminum,
and it was the only one they had. And it
came out in the conversation either before

194

William F. Harrah

or after I asked the price, it was the only one
they had and it would be a little while before
they’d get some more. And of course, the
aluminum was a little lighter than the steel,
which meant a little better performance,
although they’d still go to a hundred and
forty But I was— you know, I—well, it was
the only one and it would—had chrome wire
wheels. So twelve thousand five hundred. So
I said, “Okay.” And I had the money, all right,
and I wrote him out a check, but I remember
saying to myself like when I did it or soon
afterwards, you know—it’s almost like when
you wake up with a terrible hangover, you
think, “What a damn fool I was!” And “God,
I’m payin’ twelve thousand five hundred
for—.” And today, let’s see ’58, that would be
like—well, it’d be like payin’ a hundred and
fifty thousand today, or something— just,
you know, somethin’ you don’t think about,
but you go ahead and do it. And you look at
yourself in the mirror, and you think, “God,
do I have control of myself?”

Then I drove it back. And there’s another
funny story. And it’s just wonderful—I still
have the car. I got my next Ferrari; I sold the
first one, but then later I chased it down and
bought it back, and it’s a wonderful car today.
But it was so funny, the headlight switch, you
pull it out and you turn it—in other words,
you can’t pull it out and the headlights go on;
you have to pull it out and turn it and pull it
out. And that’s the headlights. And the reason
for that is so that your knee can’t hit it and
bump it and turn ’em out, because you have
to turn it and push it, which is real good. But
also, in doing that, I think you turn it one
more notch which turns the taillights on,
which is dumb—the taillights should come
on with the headlights. But for some reason
they do a lot of things like that in European
cars, especially Italian, that don’t make sense,
but that’s the way it’s done.

So I turned on the lights, and I looked
and the taillights weren’t on, and I couldn’t
figure out how to turn them on. And we’re
driving back to Reno; I was with [Edward A.]
Bud Catlett, I remember. We just started out
for Reno, and we had dinner or something,
and then we turned the lights on and noticed
the taillights weren’t on. And we tried and
couldn’t figure out how to turn ’em on. So we
just figured they were burned out. So we’re
going, and it’s dusk (it wasn’t dark, but it
was dusk); but we had our headlights on—
everyone had their headlights on. And we’re
cruising a hundred and thirty or something,
and real happy—not much traffic—and the
car’s just running like a dream, you know, and
we’re “Oh, what a wonderful—oh!” and “Oh!”
And it’s just happy as it can be, you know, at
a hundred— cause it wasn’t nearly flat-out.
And just fun. And so we came up and here’s
a police car up ahead with his lights flashin’,
and he’s out in the middle of the road and he
pulled over. So he pulled us over [gesture],
and I rolled down my window, and I said,
“What do you want?”

And he said, “Well, there’s a fella behind
ya—.” And this other police car had been
followin’ us, but he couldn’t catch us. So he
came up, so I thought, “Oh, brother,” and the
other cop had told me that; he said, “There’s
somebody followin’ you, but he couldn’t catch
you, so he called ahead.” And I thought ooh—.

So this fella showed up—a policeman—
with his red light and all, and he got out and
came over, and I thought, “I’m in trouble.”

And he said, “I’ve been tryin’ to catch you
for fifteen miles.

And I said, “Well, uhh—. And there was
speed limit in California. I said, “Well, uhh—.”

And he said, “Oh, I wasn’t concerned
about your speed.” He said, “You’re drivin’
a Ferrari.” He said, “That’s a wonderful car.
So I’m not concerned about that. But,” he

A Love Affair with Automobiles

195

said, “your taillights are out, and I was tryin
to catch you to tell you your taillights—”
[laughs].

So then we asked him, well, how to turn
’em on, or they’re out. And so two cops and
me and Bud, we kept playin’ with it until
we turned it one more notch and pulled
it, and then the taillights went on. So then
everybody’s happy, and away we went.
See, like a lot of cops do—they’ll give you
a ticket— most of ’em—but a lot of ’em do
appreciate a real quality car, you know. Fact,
more than once I’ve done that, and especially
with the antiques; but with modern sports
cars, have a cop pull me over, and I think,
“What the hell did I do?” And he’ll come up
and say, “Excuse me, sir, I—could I look at
the engine,” you know. “I hope you’re not in
a hurry, but I just—I’ve never—” you know.
And you lift the hood, and they admire it; and
then they say, “Thank you very much,” and go
ahead.

So that’s up to the Ferraris. And I’ve had
Ferraris ever since, with a mixture. Always
had a station wagon because of going to
Idaho. I got my first Jeep in ’64, which is the
ideal car for that. Prior to that, of course, I
had the Chryslers. And I had the Jeep wagon
ever since, at least one. And then, of course, I
acquired the dealership a couple of years ago,
which was—I’d always wanted a dealership;
but it was just one of those things that came
along, and it was for sale, surprisingly. I
bought it, and it’s been very successful. And
it’s fun, too. I love bein’ a Jeep dealer, and
they go so good, and there’s money in ’em;
and we’re Number Two in the country. We
were Number One one year; we worked extra
hard. But then this fella on the east coast that
has three dealerships that he runs as one,
so no way we can compete with that. So we
beat him one year, but we kinda had to work
harder than we wanted to work. We had to

make deals we didn’t want to work, so it’s not
worth it.

Then, getting back to Ferrari. Soon after
I got my Ferrari, the dealership became
available in Reno. I’d already had the Rolls
dealership, which—that’s another story—let
me go into Rolls: I’d always admired Rolls
Royces, the limousine. And I bought a Rolls
Royce for my wife which she liked very
much, and I got to likin’ it. I thought, it was
kind of a, oh, old man’s car or something.
But I discovered with a Rolls Royce V-B
that came out in 1960—I think we bought a
’61 Rolls Royce—I bought one for her, and
we drove it to Arizona and around, and it
was hundred and fifteen-mile-an-hour car,
but you could cruise it at ninety with no
trouble. And I remember one time we were
in Phoenix, and we drove—we’re coming
back to Reno; we’d driven down, stayed a
few days. So we drove to Las Vegas, which
was three hundred and some miles, I believe.
It was quite a ways, and we planned to stop
in Vegas. When we got to Vegas, we were
feeling just wonderful. And I was still young,
but no kid. So I told my wife, I said, “Well,
gee, I feel good. Why don’t we go on a ways.
So we’ll go to Tonopah or something.” So
we got to Tonopah, and we still felt—I felt
wonderful. So I drove to Reno, and I still
felt—. That was a thing in Rolls that I never
experienced before. And my Ferraris, they
would go fast and all, and ray Chryslers,
but they were noisy, and there was—it
would wear on you. You didn’t realize it was
wearing. But the Rolls Royce with its silence,
and its easy handling, and all that, you could
just—it was so easy to drive that you could
put in more. But I remember this time, we
drove to Reno when we’d only planned to
go to Vegas. And we arrived in Reno, and I
think it was about five-thirty at night. And
we felt real good, and I said, “Well, hey, you

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William F. Harrah

want to see the show at the Lake?” cause it
was a show we hadn’t seen.

So “Yeah, why not?” So we went in the
house, changed our clothes, and drove to the
Lake, saw the show, and drove back to Reno.
And when I got back to Reno at eleven o’clock
at night, I just felt wonderful. And that was
my first introduction to the reason why a Rolls
Royce, besides the radiator and all that sort of
thing that it does, it is so well designed that
it’s very restful to drive.

So soon after that, I don’t know if I
approached them or they approached me—I
think it was my idea, ’cause I wanted to
buy a Rolls limo, Phantom Five (which is
a wonderful car), and I went down to Kjell
Qvale, who was the west coast distributor
for Rolls Royce—he still is. So I think it was
thirty thousand dollars at the time. And I
had a demonstration, and I liked the car, and
I went up to his office and—no salesman;
just he and I. And I said, “What’ll you take
for it?” or something like that. I didn’t put it
that crudely. And it was a shock to him ’cause
apparently he hadn’t discounted any Rolls, or
at least he said he hadn’t.

And he said, “The price is thirty thousand
dollars.”

And I—you know, we got into some
words, and I said, “Well, you know, I—every
car I buy I get a discount.”

And he said, “Well, you don’t on a Rolls
Royce.”

And I said, “Not even a thousand dollars?”
I can’t remember if I got the thousand or not;
I kinda don’t think I did, ’cause I remember it
was very unhappy.

In the meantime, there’d been a hint of
some kind from somebody (I don’t know if
it’s from Kjell or not) that they’d like to have
a Rolls Royce dealership in Reno. And I
really didn’t want to go into the car business.
I liked cars, and I had many opportunities

before to get into it, like the Chrysler and
the Packard and all that. And I thought,
“Oh, poohy,” ’cause I did value my time, and
I valued my time in Idaho, and I didn’t have
too many executives then; it was kinda me
doin’ most of it. So, I just thought, “Well, if I
have a car agency, then that’ll take my time.”
And I would’a had a manager, but I knew I’d
be right in the middle of it; so I turned down
many. But I think I took the Rolls. And either
they offered it to me, or they hinted at it. Or
maybe it even came from Rolls Royce because
I’d bought—I bought three in London, which
made a big hit.

But anyway, I got the dealership for Reno
and for Rolls Royce, which was a fun thing
because the company bought quite a few
Rolls limos. And they would go, so that made
money for the company. And I bought them,
Harrah’s could buy ’em as cheap as they could
otherwise, so it was a pretty good deal. And
my wife, who liked Rolls Royces, she got a
new Rolls Royce every once in a while. So it
was a real nice situation.

But then the Ferrari worked rather
similar. I was offered that, and also as a
good customer, ’cause I’d bought another
Ferrari in the meantime—plus the Ferrari
distributorship had changed hands, so they
were looking for dealers. So I took on the
Ferrari dealership, which didn’t work too
good at first because of politics. The owner
of the Ferrari distributorship had started—
it’s a success story. His name was John Von
Neumann, and he’d started with a little MG,
one MG, in Hollywood. And I think he’d
sold MGs and made a little money. And then
Volkswagen came along. He was one of the
first Volkswagen dealers, and that’s when
the “Bug” came. And he was an excellent
dealer, and he acquired the distributorship
for southern California. And any Volkswagen
dealership was almost guaranteed to make

A Love Affair with Automobiles

197

you a million dollars when they were hot,
and a distributorship had made him a
multimillionaire, and he was quite a young
man. So hed acquired Ferrari as a fun thing,
as he loved sports cars. And he was a great
driver. I’ve seen him drive in races, and he
was some—you see a lot of celebrity drivers,
but he was a true driver. He could really drive,
Johnny Von Neumann.

But he was married, and they divorced.
In the divorce, she acquired the Ferrari
distributorship, which was real bad news
because she didn’t like the car, and she didn’t
like—. And I had a man that I’d appointed
my manager, and she didn’t like him because
he had gone with her daughter or something.
And she wanted me to fire him, and I wouldn’t
fire him because of that. And because I
wouldn’t fire him, she wouldn’t give me any
cars. And actually no cars, not—. And I’m a
dealer, and she wouldn’t give me any Ferraris.
So I went to the factory about it. You know, I
hinted; I said I couldn’t believe it was gonna
really happen. And then finally I went to the
factory, and they couldn’t believe it. And they
said, “Well, she has to give you cars.”

And I said, “Well, she hasn’t.” And this
went on for about a year. And here I’m a
Ferrari dealer, and I didn’t have any cars. So
finally, the Ferrari factory started selling me
cars direct, which is unheard-of when there’s
a distributor. But they would sell her cars as a
distributor, and then they’d sell them to me as
a dealer at the dealer’s costs, which was fine.

Then I tried to buy the distributorship.
And she wouldn’t talk to me; she wouldn’t,
this-and-that. And I was very active as a
Ferrari dealer. So then later, the factory
bought her out ’cause she was giving such
terrible—not only me, but she was selling
Ferraris to her friends, and if you weren’t her
friend you couldn’t get one, and just—she
was really messin’ it up. And the dealers were

quitting right and left, and it was total disaster.
So Ferrari revoked her distributorship, and I
think they paid her for it to get out ’cause she
was a mean woman. So it was there, and they
ran it for a while. And I was a dealer under
them, and it was much better.

So then one day, just out of a clear blue
sky, they said, “Would you like to be the
distributor?”

And I said, “Well, of course. I’d love to be
the distributor. I could do a good job.”

And they said, “Okay. When do you want
to start?”

And then so I said, so-and-so. And I
thought, “Well, I wonder what they want for
it.” So I thought, “Well, they’ll tell me.” So I
said, “Okay, sure, fine.” So we went ahead, and
to this day they haven’t asked me anything!
[Chuckling] I don’t think they’re going to;
it’s been ten years now, I guess. And we have
I think twenty dealers now all over—we have
west of the Mississippi, which is real nice.

There are the three agencies—well, I’ll
repeat that. One is American Motors and Jeep;
and the other is Rolls Royce, BMW, Aston
Martin, Peugeot, Fiat, and Ferrari. And the
other agency is Mercedes Benz and Datsun.
And there’s one in Ketchum, Idaho which is
Jeep and American Motors and Volkswagen,
Porsche, and— (what’s that other car? It’s on
the tip of my tongue. It’ll come. It’s another
German car). That tells the cars; that’s enough
of that.

That’s more the dealer end. Well, today,
I drive Ferraris and Jeeps and whatever. I
believe in a car, the ideal car for the purpose,
like a sports car—two people to go from
here to the Lake in nice weather, why, there’s
nothing better than a Ferrari sports car. But
then to take six people up to the Lake or
six guests, why, there’s nothing like a Rolls
limousine or a Cadillac (there’s a lot of nice
limos; we have Lincolns, Cadillacs, and Rolls

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William F. Harrah

Royces) with a chauffeur—that’s the way to
do that. And then, like, say, when there’s four
of you—doesn’t work in a Ferrari; they have
a little back seat, some of ’em, but it’s just too
crowded.

So the ideal car in my opinion today is
the Mercedes, as a sedan. The Mercedes has
always been a quality car and a pretty good
performance car, not a real hot one. They
came out with a sports car in ’55, a gull-wing,
which was a hundred and thirty-mile-an-hour
car (I remember that). And I drove one; in
fact, a doctor here in Reno had one, and he
let me drive it. And I thought, “Wow!” And
it really handled nicely. But it was only two-
passenger, and I was into bigger cars then; plus
it was—it went very well, but it didn’t pull your
head off like a Ferrari. But I thought about it,
thought about it. Then in ’68,1 believe, they
had—. Well, prior to that, Mercedes came out
with a big limo and a big sedan and a big limo
with a 6.3 engine in it (that’s liters) , which
was two hundred and fifty-some horsepower,
and it was a real hot performer. Well, the
limo would go (we had one for a while) —it
would do about a hundred and twenty. And
the sedan would do about a hundred and
twenty-five, a hundred and thirty, well maybe
a hundred and twenty-five. I had one of those,
and it was a very nice car. I liked it, but it was
not a big thing.

Then in ’68,1 believe, they had the smaller
one, the 450 and the 280, which they have
today. And it was big news—they put the 6.3
engine in the 450 chassis, limo, so it became
the hottest sedan in the world overnight. A
regular Mercedes sedan would do a hundred
and thirty-five miles an hour, and wonderful
acceleration, and so I bought one of those, a
6.3. And I just loved that, as a sedan. And I
drove it until—what happened? Oh. I was a
little worried (’cause I was talkin’ it up, too),
and I was a Rolls dealer (and there is some

competition), and I thought “Well, here am
I drivin’ a Mercedes, sellin Rolls, and drivin’
a Mercedes.” I said, “That isn’t right”—to
myself, I said that. So I sold it, and people
said, “Well, why didn’t you like the 6.3?”

And I said, “I love it, but I shouldn’t be
drivin’ a Mercedes.” And I did; I went back to
Rolls Royces—the sedan. And then we kept
one or two in the company, but of course,
nothing wrong with that because we had
all kinds of cars. But my personal car was
a Rolls Royce or a Ferrari. But then, a year
or so ago we had a chance to acquire the
Mercedes dealership here, which we did, and
then I could drive a—maybe that’s the reason
I bought it! [Chuckles] Now I can drive a
Mercedes without hangin’ my head. And the
6.3, they quit making, and they got to be a
collector’s item almost. And everybody—”Oh,
gee whiz, why—” and you know—. They went
back to 4.5 (that’s liters; that’s the size of the
engine) , and the performance is in—you
know—proportion to that. And then last year,
much to our pleasure, with everything going
the other way and governmental controls and
speed limits and everything, they came out
with a 6.9 Mercedes. And that’s even more
horsepower and better performance. And
of course, I have one of those. So that’s my
favorite sedan without any doubt. That will
go a hundred and forty miles an hour today,
and handles just beautifully, and quiet, and
just super.

What is it about the speed ?

Oh, it’s fun to go fast, plus it’s fun to beat
somebody, plus speed is time, you know? I’ll
argue with anybody about that. If you can
get Point A to Point B in an hour, or you can
do it in a half an hour, you’ve just picked
up thirty minutes of your life, without any
doubt. And anybody who wants to argue

A Love Affair with Automobiles

199

against that—’’Yeah,” and blah, blah, a lot
of arguments, but there are ways of going a
hundred and thirty miles an hour very safely
And I pride myself on that; every car I ever
drove had excellent tires and excellent shock
absorbers and excellent brakes and a clean
windshield and just—. Also I was sittin’ there
watchin’ the road. I wasn’t [with] my ear in
the radio, or I wasn’t lookin’ at the ranch over
there; I was looking like that [straight ahead].
In fact, when I want to look even today—of
course, I don’t drive fifty-five, but I don’t drive
a hundred. But I want to see what things are
goin’ on in Washoe Valley, I’ll let somebody
else drive because I cannot drive and look at
the scenery to amount to anything. And it’s
so much fun; I only do it a couple of times
a year. And when I do it, I see so many new
things, and new houses, and new businesses
[chuckles], and—. ’cause if they’re not right
there, I just—which is good; that’s the way
you should drive.

Did you ever think about becoming a race
driver? Or did you try it?

Oh, I drove up north of town one time. I
had a Jaguar; I left that out. I had an XK120.
That was my first sports car. I bought that in
’48. See, that was a hundred and twenty miles
an hour, only they would do a hundred and
thirty. That was XK120. XK was the model,
and 120 was the top speed. It was a hundred
and sixty horsepower, the Jaguar. Came out in
48, and it was unheard-of ’cause they did do
a hundred and thirty. That’s when a hundred
miles an hour was very fast. They took this
Jaguar, and they couldn’t do it in England,
but they took it to the Continent—Belgium
or somewhere—on a regular speed run there.
And it was a stock Jaguar, and they made a
two-way run, and they did a hundred and
thirty miles an hour both ways. Jaguars have

always been low priced for what you got, so
it was around five thousand dollars. It was a
hundred and thirty-mile-an-hour car. And
I’d read about it in England. And there was
a Jaguar dealer in L.A., and I guess that’s
when I was on the Horseless Carriage Club.
But anyway, in Hollywood, and I was there
and I went in, and it was called International
Motors, which is the same name we use here.
And I forget the owner’s name, but I went in
to him. And I said, “I want to buy an XK120,”
and he looked surprised, ’cause I guess not too
many people knew about ’em or something.

He said, “Well, yeah, okay.” And I paid
him, either a big down payment, or I paid him
the full price ’cause I wanted it. And that was
when it was, say like September or October
that all this had come out or was coming out.
And I ordered the car, and I expected maybe
spring delivery ’cause there were none in the
country yet.

So then it was an overnight success and
exciting and all the papers and the XK120—
wow! And all the stars are ordering them.
So I think I made a deposit or something,
but—or paid for it—but anyway, I was sure
that I’d paid my money, so I couldn’t get shut
out. I was a little suspicious ’cause I wasn’t
a celebrity. Then I kept real close track of
what ones were coming in the country and
International Motors. And I think—and I
couldn’t prove it—but I think I had a feeling
there of uneasiness, like maybe I might
get shut out because I’d call, and course, i
called twice a week, and well, it was kinda
indefinite, and I felt like I was maybe gettin
the runaround. So I went down and really got
down to the boss, and you know, polite, but,
you know, “When is my car coming in?”

And “Well, we don’t know.”

I said, “Well, gimme what you have
because, as you know, I live in Reno, and it’ll
mean a special trip. And I want to be here

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William F. Harrah

when it gets here, and I want to take delivery
here, and I want a day or two in advance.
So please let me know.” And I really kept
houndin’ him.

So pretty soon (and maybe it was in my
imagination; maybe it was a straight deal all
the way) I got a date—okay. And it was a little
earlier than I expected, and I thought, “Oh
wow, this is neat.” So I went down, and I was
there a day ahead of time; and I went snoopin’
around, and by then I knew the guys in the
shop and everybody. And they said, “Yes, we
have three coming in tomorrow, and one of
em’s yours.”

I said, “Oh boy, that’s what I wanted to
hear.” And I said, “Who are the other two for?”

And he said, “Humphrey Bogart and Gary
Cooper.” Huh! [Chuckles.]

And I thought, “Wow, I’m a celebrity!”

So I went down the next day, and they
were there—Humphrey Bogart and Gary
Cooper, and I. And I think there were pictures
and all, although it wasn’t a big thing. But I
remember we all took delivery. They didn’t
line us up or anything, but just mine’s over
here and Gary’s is over there and Humphrey’s
is over there. And we weren’t—you know—
we were “Hello, how are ya?” and “Gee, we’re
lucky to get these cars,” and that’s all we had
to say because Gary was interested in his
car, and Humphrey was interested—and I’m
interested in mine. So we just—’’Hello,” “Nice
to meet you,” go, you know. That was it, but I
still felt like a celebrity, I can remember that.
And I even think I drove it home that night.
And it would go a hundred and thirty miles
an hour, which was—see, that’s in ’48, so that’s
before the Chrysler 300s. And the Packards
were a hundred and something—a hundred
and five or so. So a hundred and thirty was
very fast.

But I think that’s why I like speed. Plus
it’s—you know, you—superiority. My car’ll

go a hundred and fifty, and yours’ll only go a
hundred and forty—you know, it’s that kind
of—.

It is kinda technical; I understand it, but
I can’t describe it very good.

Some Car Builders: Memory Sketches

How about some of the other people who have
been in Reno and involved in cars; did you and
Mr. Cord, for example, get to be friendly?

No, I met him a couple of times, that’s
all. I think I met him three times. And I
communicated with him or the Cord family.
We have the special Cord that he had built
that we found in Beverly Hills and discovered
he’d owned it. Then we asked him, and he
told us exactly how it was. And we restored
it, and then we showed it to him when we
finished and he was Very pleased. I never
spent three hours with him or anything—
maybe hour or half an hour. Quite a fellow,
though.

How about some of the other car builders and
designers. Are you close to them or have you
been?

Oh, well, I know Mr. [Enzo] Ferrari; I’m
friends with him. I can go into that if you like.

I met him (I’m a Ferrari nut)—. First trip
to Europe was in ’61.1 was on a tour, and we
went—we were in Italy, and by maneuvering
the schedule a little, I could go to the Ferrari
factory. I wasn’t a distributor then; I was a
dealer. But I knew somebody that knew him,
and I knew the factory and I got them to
arrange, and I was—so I had an appointment.
And I went to the factory and was shown
around and I met Mr. Ferrari. I had my picture
taken with him, fortunately, which I have—
still have it; it’s on display.

A Love Affair with Automobiles

201

Then I visited the factory about every two
to three years. That’s ’61, so, how many times?
And I don’t like to bug anybody, so I don’t see
Mr. Ferrari every time, but I see him maybe
every third time, something like that. And I
have several pictures of’61 and ’66 and ’69.
In fact, the Ferrari people were here recently,
and they said, “Hey, when you cornin’ back?”
And they had kept track, or Mr. Manicardi
had.

But I hadn’t been there in some time, and
I said, “Well, I hate to bug you.”

And they said, “No, you’re not buggin’
us. We feel that you don’t like us if you don’t
show up.” And they are arranged for it, where
it doesn’t stop their production any for me to
come in.

I remember the last time I was there, it
was very exciting because I got to ride in a
new 6.6—what was the model number? Three
sixty-five, two plus two. It was a new model—
’fact the first one I’d seen, and Mr. Ferrari took
me for a ride in it, which was thrilling to ride
with Mr. Ferrari. I remember he was sixty-
nine; the next day was his seventieth birthday.
And he drove like a man of twenty-two ’ cause
he was formerly a race driver, you know, so
he really can drive.

And it was kinda fun—I love to tell the
story because I had a similar car. This had a
365. See, it’s in cc’s, and it’s times twelve, so
that was 4.4 liters, yeah. But the one I had
driven was maybe a 350 or something, about
4.2.

But his driving—he drove beautifully,
and like we’d go through a little town, and
he’d slow down; and then he’d get out in the
narrow road and up the hill and around
and rrrrr [gesture shifting gears] - I was
watching, and he did everything perfect. I
was watching very critically. He drove exactly
right—not goofy, you know, very fast, but
just perfect.

So we started down this slight slope down,
and there was a hill ahead I could see.

And he was in third, and he went into fourth
tight away. And, so the hill rose about like that
[gentle slope], you know. And I had a very
similar car. So I would’ve, if I’d been driving,
I would’ve left it in fourth to pull that hill
without—without, what’s the word—dragging
on the engine.

He was in fourth and he could’ve gone to
fifth, but if it’d been me driving, I would’ve
stayed in fourth because you go into fifth—
that’s a higher gear, and the engine would’ve
really had to—it wouldn’t’ve been the right
gear. The engine’d been turning too slowly and
all. So I thought, well, I just would’ve stayed
in fourth. And we got down about to here,
and he shifted into fifth, and I thought, “Well,
he made a mistake.” But then he stepped on
it, and as we got to the hill, he just pulled it
beautifully. And what I hadn’t allowed for was
the extra four hundred cc’s. In other words, it
was the same car except a little bigger engine
which had a little more horsepower, a little
more torque. So, of course, he was absolutely
right. It pulled it in fifth beautifully, and we’re
a hundred miles an hour, down to ten. What
a thrill that was.

And then he took me in where they do
their engines. See, they build all the engines,
of course, and they run ’em all in. So you can
take a Ferrari and drive it wide open the day
you get it. And they run ’em in. You walk
down a hail, and they have a room, and these
engines are all running, rrrrrr. There’s a closed
door there, but a window that you can look in,
and you can go in. So they re maybe running
twelve engines then at a time. So he took
me down there, which is a treat; everybody
doesn’t get to go there.

So then he took me into another room
which was an air tunnel. An air tunnel—you
know, you turn on the air, and you can have a

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William F. Harrah

hundred miles an hour, two hundred miles an
hour, whatever. And these car shapes, there’s
little ribbons on ’em, you know, to tell how
the wind resistance is and all. And they had
all these futuristic designs, and you can see
1970, ’75, ’80, ’85, you know—oooh!—you’re
lookin’ like that.

And so afterwards I was very thrilled,
and just he and I were in there, and he had a
big lock on it and all. So then later I saw Mr.
Manicardi for lunch or whatever, and that’s
the American—I mean the English-speaking
one—was their kinda PR man. “So how was
it?”

And I said, “Oh, wonderful—and the
engines and all.” And I said, “And that wind
tunnel room—.”

And he said, “You were in there?”

And I said, “Yes.”

And he said, “Did you know the only
people that get to go in there are Mr. Ferrari
and the chief engineer?” He said, I’ve been
with the company for twenty-something—”
he said, “I’ve never been in there!” [Laughing]
So I was very thrilled that he took me through
there. And for some reason he likes me, or he
likes us—I don’t know—but that’s wonderful.

Then another man I met that had his
name on a car is Mr. Bentley, who designed
the Bentley car, which later went in with the
Rolls Royce. But I visited him in England a
few years ago. I have a picture of that day, too,
which was one of the biggest days in my life.
A mutual friend, a car collector, made the
appointment for me and drove me out; he
lived outside of London, Mr. Bentley and his
wife—W. 0. were his initials; everybody calls
him W. 0., or did. He was about seventy-five
when I met him—very clear—his mind was
clear. So we spent the whole day, had lunch
and then just sat and talked. I asked him many
questions about the car and the engine—they
have a very unusual camshaft, a setup. And it’s

a wonderful thing. And it’s the only car that
uses it, and it’s absolutely quiet and actually
it’s a wonderful design.

I knew he’d been a railroad man, but I’d
forgotten—I made no connection between the
two. And he’d been a railroad man, and then
he’d gotten into cars. So I said, “Mr. Bentley,
how did you ever figure out that camshaft
drive?”

And he said, “Well, you know, I was a
railroad engineer.”

And I said, “Yes,” and then he just looked
at me and grinned. And as you know, the
engine, a locomotive, the steam, and there’s a
rod comes out, and it’s hooked onto the wheel
and it turns, you know, and it drives like that
[gesture wheel turning]. And that’s exactly
how he drove his camshaft.

And he said, “I was a railroad engineer.”
And then it hit me, and it is, it is an exact copy.

But he told me, he started on a shoestring
and built these Bentley cars—they were super
sports cars—and he won a lot of races, but he
was always behind—never enough money.
And they were a very desirable car, and they
won a lot of races. Then it just got tougher and
tougher, but they kept going, kept going, kept
going till the ’30s, early ’30s and Depression
and all, and then he just had to give up and
sold out to Rolls Royce. He was—paid his
bills and could walk away. He had some
money; he wasn’t a wealthy man. And then he
thought—and I kinda agree with him—that
he thought Rolls would continue’ the Bentley,
’cause it was a sports car. But all Rolls did, they
really junked the Bentley. Today you can buy
a Bentley, but it’s just a Rolls with a Bentley
radiator and Bentley hubcaps. So he was very
disappointed at that, which he told me; he
said, “I didn’t know that was gonna happen,
but,” he said, “it did,” and he was out the door,
then. They were kinda cold to him ’cause he
didn’t have much money, and they just kinda

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203

dusted him off, which—for what that’s worth.
And I respect the Rolls company, but I think
their relationship with Bentley was—.

But anyway, I spent the day, had lunch
with him and his wife. She was a real sharp
lady. They’d been married for forty, fifty years.
And they weren’t doin’ too good, you could
see; they had this little apartment and a little
tiny car. They weren’t hungry or anything,
but they didn’t have much. And he was very
interested in the Collection. And I told him
about it. I had one of these books, and it
was— told him. “Oh gee. Gee, I’d love to see
that one.”

I said, “Well, can you come over?”

“No, no, no, we can’t—we don’t have any
money, you know.” so I thought, Maybe I
should invite them.” And then I thought, “No,
I just met ’em today; it might be a little too—”
on, what’s the word?—loud American. So I
thanked—’’Good-bye”— and then I wrote
a very nice thank-you letter later and really
worked hard on it. “Thank you—one of the
biggest days in my life. I’ve thought about it
a lot, and would like to extend to you and
Mrs. Bentley an invitation to visit the United
States and especially the Collection, but also,
as long as you’re here, (this is at my expense),
and Washington or New York,” whatever else
they wanted to see in two or three weeks—
whatever they like.

And so I didn’t hear. I thought, “Oooh, I
wonder if I offended ’em?”

And then finally I did hear, and it was a
real nice letter. And I think she wrote it and
wrote kinda “we.” And he dictated it—’’And
we’ve talked—it was thrilling, your invitation.
We’ve talked about it and we’ve thought
about it. What could be more wonderful,”
and, “ultimate of our lives,” and all. He said,
“We’ve given it very serious consideration,
and we’re sorry to say we have to turn it down.”
And the reason was— and it was explained

real good—that his health really wasn’t too
good, and he could probably make it, but
there would be problems traveling, and he
couldn’t walk too good, and his heart, and
his blood pressure, and on and on, and it was
just inadvisable at his age in his state of health
to make the trip. Then he died two or three
years afterwards—or four years—but I’ve
often wondered, well—I mean was it the right
decision? I’m sure it was, but still it would’ve
been so nice for him to—. And I did have an
excellent collection of Bentleys for him to see,
plus the other cars.

I think those are the only two I’ve ever
met, I believe. I think there’s one more. I can’t
remember.

Observations on Modern Auto
Manufacturing

Suppose we talk for a little while about
the industry itself—about how you see the
evolution of the automobile industry.

Ooh, that’s a big subject. Okay. Well, the
reason the company is in existence—we’re
talkin’ about American companies— the
reason they are in existence—there’s only four
now—General Motors and Ford, Chrysler,
and American Motors. And they’re the
survivors. It’s a terrible competitive and dog-
eat-dog business. But General Motors is the
biggest and the most successful and primarily
because they’re just such good operators. And
then every facet of it just—they have good
design, good planning, good marketing, good
quality; they don’t miss a bet that I can see.

And Ford, it’s Number Two, and they do
an excellent job but not as good as General
Motors ’cause Ford doesn’t cover the field
like General Motors does; they don’t have a
car for every notch, which General Motors
started that in the ’20s. And surprisingly to

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William F. Harrah

me, nobody’s ever really successfully done
that. And so Ford doesn’t do it, although the
cars that Ford makes are good cars. They’re
modern, well designed.

And Chrysler is very similar to Ford in
that respect. They don’t cover the market fully.
And Chrysler, for all the years they’ve been
in business, they’re not too good operators in
that they seem to be running behind all the
time, and so many things that they should do
themselves, they have done. General Motors
will send out a lot of work, which can be
done better and cheaper on the outside. But
Chrysler and to a lesser extent, Ford, will buy
from suppliers or send out work that they
could do themselves. And because of that, it’s
kind of the easy way to do it. But that’s why
General Motors can put out their Chevrolet
for less cost than the Plymouth or the Ford—
the comparable model—because they make
so many more things themselves. And then
Chrysler is very weak in that respect. They buy
an awful lot of things that they should make.

And American Motors has been a tiny
little company for years and never was a big
company, and I have the whole history of it,
of course. It was Jeffrey, and then it was Nash,
and then it was So-and-so and So-and-so. It
almost died four or five times, as you probably
remember, everyone does— and they were
really on their deathbed, and George Romney
got in there and made small cars. If they’d
stayed with his principles, they’d be in better
shape today because he said, “Build a small
car and don’t get involved in the specialty cars
and don’t get involved in the big cars. Get your
little niche, a little different small car, a quality
small car, and stay right there.” He could turn
the company around—and left the company,
which, of course, was his privilege.

Then the various managements since then
have gone in this direction and gone in that
direction and gone in the other direction.

It isn’t dead yet because they also own Jeep,
which is the vehicle which I’m prejudiced
towards, I guess ’cause I sell ’em. But it’s
almost a one-of-a-kind car; there’s no direct
competition with Jeep. So it makes a lot of
money; it keeps American Motors afloat.
Then they have another division (I forget the
name of it) that built the buses and all, on
contract and bids, and that division makes
money. But the actual American Motors loses
money, and primarily because of their—well,
they got into big cars, and then they let their
styling get behind, and—. I wouldn’t write
’em off yet. It’s a management thing, and their
designer, Dick Teague, is a real good friend of
mine, who also is an antique car fella. He’s an
excellent designer. But it’s a management—it
comes down to management. But I still think
American Motors could survive if they do the
right things.

I have a story to tell about Dick Teague.
I’ve know him since he lived in Tos Angeles
twenty years ago or longer, and I met him as
an antique car fella. And he only has one eye,
which impresses me because he is a designer
and beautiful— which, of course, one eye is all
you need. He was always just the flunky kind,
and he worked for—I think he started with
General Motors, and then he went to Packard,
and I used to kid him because he went with
I think about four losers in a row, I think the
last one was Packard. And I asked him, “What
company are you goin with next?” He said he
didn’t know, and I said, “Well, maybe if you
give ’em your record, they’ll pay you to stay
away!”

But he tells one story that I love. He built
a car for American Motors, and it was—and I
can’t remember the name of it. It was a good-
lookin’ car. And previously—’fact, when he
designed it, when it came out, it was such a
good-lookin’ car that I borrowed one from a
local dealer. It was a (the name’ll come to me).

A Love Affair with Automobiles

205

And I had my picture taken with it and sent
it to Dick. And I said, “Dear Dick—Then I
signed it, “Gee, Dick you finally got one.” And
I said, “Gee, that’s wonderful.” He’d previously
designed the Marlin.

That was supposed to be a sporty car, and
it was a two-door; it was a Nash. And the front
end looked pretty good, and then the rear end,
it just looked terrible. So then one day I was
at a car meet or something with Dick Teague,
and I said, “Gee, Dick, that car you designed
was so beautiful.” I said, “Wow! How did you
do that?”—you know.

And he said, “Well, I’ll tell ya.” He said,
“This is the car business.” He said, “I can
design good-lookin’ cars, there’s no question.”
And he said, “But I design it; then it goes into
the committee, and they change this and they
change that, and it depends on who’s strongest
in the committee what comes out of there.”
And he said, “Well, let me get to the Marlin
first—” and he said, “I designed—” and he
sketched it like this [gestures], and it was a
beautiful thing. He said, “It was like that. Like
here’s the front of-the car, and then it’s like
that, and a real fastback, like that, see.” Real
wooo! Said, “That was the car I submitted to
the committee.” And they said, “Oh, it looks
good. Fine.” So they built a mock-up, and
that’s a full-sized model.

So he said the chairman of the board was
great big guy, and Dick was away on vacation
or somethin’ anyway, which wouldn’t have
made any difference. But the big guy—they
went in; he looked at the mock—”Oh, that’s
beautiful.” But he says, “I don’t like any car
that I can’t ride in the back seat without my
hat on.” So he got in the back seat with his hat
on, and of course, to accommodate him, they
had to raise this. So instead of that pretty line
there, it came like this [drawing]. And then,
of course, they only had this far to go; they
had to come way back in fast, so it just had

an awful-lookin’ rear end. I’ll show you one
if you want to—when you’re at the Collection
sometime. It’s horrible. He said, “Because of
that, that’s the way the car came out, and the
car was a flop.”

He went on and told about the new one
he’d done. And he said, “Well, this,” he said, “I
designed it exactly the way I wanted to.” And
he said, “I submitted it to the committee.” And
he said, “They were gonna act on it, and they
had a political problem.” So I don’t know—
maybe they all got fired or something. And
fact, nobody was runnin’ the company for a
little while, and the politics are goin’ on; so he
said, “Before the new group could come in,
they were so far behind on their production
line, they said, ‘Give us that damn design,
Dick. We gotta get this line goin’.’”

So he sent the design down ’cause there
was nobody to approve it, so there was
nobody to change it. So it went through
[laughing] untouched! But he said, “That was
the only reason ’cause nobody was runnin the
company.” He said, “Ifthere’dbeen somebody
there, they’d’ve changed somethin’ just to be
changin’ somethin’.”

I learn from these things, too, and of
course, I get in. But things are submitted, like
our advertising, many times. And I’ll want to
say this, and I’ll speak up if I—but I’m a lot
more cautious than I used to be because I’ll
think, “Well, gee, I don’t like that. But now
wait a minute. That does that mean—I mean
the general public. Will they not like that? Or
is it just me my own personal thing, gettin in
the way?” And I think I’ve learned somethin’
there.

course, on the other hand, you can prove
anything just about either way. You can prove
both sides of a subject. General Motors is
about the strongest committee company
there is in the world. There’re committees on
committees, but still they get so much done

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William F. Harrah

and so much good done. They just have a
philosophy that seems to really work.

And funny, over the years, I know I’ve
bought very few General Motors cars for
personal use. And I guess maybe it’s, I like
something a little different, a little faster, a
little hotter, a little more rakish, a little more
something, and they were always kind of
middle of the road, and I never really want to
be in the middle of the road. Each car in each
class is an excellent car and usually ahead of
the competition. And you can’t knock success.
And they have committees, but—. It’s quite a
company, General Motors.

Maybe it’s true that there really is a mass
market out there.

Oh, yeah, that’s no problem; that never
has since the Model T Ford, that people would
rather have a Ferrari or a Bugatti because it’s a
little different. But still they will— if they can
afford it and they like the car, they don’t care
if there’s a million other of the identical car
goin’ down the street. If that bugged people,
you wouldn’t see all the Chevies you see, or
the Fords, or the Jeeps, course, the multicolors
and all helps that a lot.

You weregoingto talk about Chrysler engineering.
Is that really the engineering company ?

Well, it was. Years ago, it started that way.
Walter P. Chrysler Was a great engineer, and
he handed it down. Over the years Chrysler
engines have always been good. In the last
twenty years they were first with a hemi
engine, which was really revolutionary, and
which they abandoned because of cost, which
many of we car freaks have despaired about.

They also had a front end torsion bar
system that was super. It came out in the ’50s,
and was so far ahead of everybody—General

Motors and Ford—that a Chrysler would
corner so much better. Of course, they’ve
caught up now, and the other companies have
caught up on engines and suspensions. I don’t
think Chrysler engineering is superior to
anybody any more. They’re not the healthiest
company there is.

They have more bad years, and their costs
run higher when things are good; they don’t
make as much money as the others. And when
things are bad, they lose more, their factories
are behind. They’re not nearly as good as Ford
and General Motors. Arid they’ll be the next
company to go if there is another one— I
mean after American Motors.

Of course, the unions have just murdered
the car companies. That’s the biggest problem
they have is their expense, plus their shoddy
workmanship. I would hate to be in that
business, like to put out a Cadillac, which is
a quality car. They use their best workmen
there, and still they do lousy work. That costs
money to do it over and over—terrible.

Is that really traceable to the unions, or is it
something else?

Hm, I blame the unions, for the car
companies—they don’t want to build bad
cars; they want to build good cars. But many
of their employees they can’t fire, and they
do shoddy work and make—and just—it’s
lousy. And many of’em—not all of’em—but
many of ’em just don’t give a damn, just the
hell with it. Maybe I shouldn’t say unions, but
management doesn’t say, “Hey, you guys, we
want you to build a bum car today.” I’m sure
of that.

And there’s bum cars cornin’ out that
door at a tremendous expense—tremendous
labor expense—when the unions should be
tellin their fellas, “We’re gettin you this much
money; now put out a day’s work for it.” And

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207

then everybody’d be happy But when they
don’t care how good a job they do as long as
they pay their dues, why, it’s a sad situation.

That’s why the Japanese have made such
tremendous inroads, because of the quality of
their products. The engineering is good, but
it’s no better than American. But the quality
is excellent—just excellent. And that’s the
Japanese workman— takes pride in his work.

And the Germans, too. All of which I
sell—Mercedes and BMW and Volkswagen
are all quality, excellent workmanship.

Italian workmanship is pretty good, but
they have a lot of union problems there. These
one-day strikes are their big thing over there.
When the car comes out the door, it’s a pretty
good car—better than American, I’ll say that.

You think of the assembly line as having
been really the answer to a lot of these mass
production problems and the way it was
developed here.

Well, it was real good for a while till the
unions—like Ford or Henry Ford, Sr., he had a
lot of faults, but he did pioneer the five-dollar
day when I think wages were two-forty or
somethin’, and. he raised everybody to five
dollars. And they had to work for it, but still
it was double wages. And there’s no way you
could’ve got a union in the plants then.

But also, something that’ll be real
interesting to observe—you know, Volkswagen
is gonna open a plant in Pennsylvania this
year; to save the costs is the only reason for
it. They figure they can build a Volkswagen in
this country cheaper and sell it cheaper than
they can build one in Germany and bring it
over and sell it because the wages have gone
up there very high.

And okay—the next logical question—
’’All right, you have excellent quality in
Germany; what are you going to do about

quality here?” And they’ve planned for it, and
I think they’ve negotiated a contract, where
they will have more authority in firing than
the other car companies. I think the other
car companies have been rather negligent
there in not gettin’ the power to tire. And
I think because Volkswagen was wanted
and because of the—Pennsylvania wanted
’em and all, that there was a lot of political
push—yes. So they insisted on this; it’s really
a special contract with the union, that they do
have a better quality, and it’s easier for them
to fire somebody or have ’em fired. Plus, I
think they’re gonna use two or three or four
inspectors to one of the other companies It’ll
be interesting, really interesting, to see if they
can get the quality. And if they can, why then
the other car companies, there’s no reason
they shouldn’t do it, too. And they could
negotiate, if they wanted to, a similar contract
for competitive reasons, ’cause the Pinto
competes against the Volkswagen. So then it
might be a real good thing for everybody.

And those workmen, they’re human
beings, and if you could just turn ’em around.
Of course, a slob’s a slob, but there’s some
people—if it made ’em happy to go home with
a—’cause I know I would, if I was a workman;
I feel wonderful if I’ve done a good day’s work.
What little side windows I put in were all put
in right, I’d feel better than if I’d put ’em in
sloppy. I don’t know. Maybe there’s a way of
gettin that message across. Hope so, for the
good of the country.

Is it, then, that the real pleasure you get from
the Collection is the beauty of the cars?

Well, the beauty and the engineering, you
know? I mean you can appreciate engineering
without touchin’ ’em, you know, like the
newest Ferrari or the newest Mercedes or
something—I love the engineering, and

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William F. Harrah

I can describe it to you, but no way—and
they’re so complicated today, no way could
I do anything but—. No, I love the design
and the—good design and the bum design,
where American cars, many of ’em do have a
poor design compared to—I was gonna say
European cars, but I’d say other cars. Not only
Japanese cars are very well designed (most of
them), most European cars—. There are some
good American cars, but there’re so many
corners they missed that they could do just—.
Absolutely ridiculous! General Motors should
be ashamed of themselves. And they’re out to
make a dollar, which they do very well, but
for just a little more effort and no cost, they
could build a better car.

What would you build if you were building the
car? Say, you’re going to build the “Harrah”.)

Well, no, I don’t want to do that, ’cause it
would be like a Ferrari, or like a Mercedes;
only they do it better than I could do it, so I
don’t want to tangle with them.

Just to fantasize for a moment, and say, you
were going to build the “Harrah.”

Well, it would be depending on—if it was
a sports car, I mean two-passenger and the
high performance it would be like a Ferrari,
the twelve-cylinder Ferrari. It would be about
identical. I don’t know a thing I’d change. And
then in a touring car, a five-passenger car, it
would be the Mercedes 6.9, which is—nothing
there that I’d change. I put some mirrors on
it, and I think that’s the only thing I did to
that car, ’cause it has a tachometer, it has all
the goodies; it’ll go a hundred and forty miles
an hour, so it’s a—. No, I would never—.
Even years ago, I—people want to put their
name on a car, and I wouldn’t put my name

on it unless it was superior, and it just—. It’s
a big thing makin a good automobile. A lot
of people try it, and they fail every time, so it
maybe a pretty car, but it’s no good compared
to what you can buy, so it’s a profession, a big
one for many years.

You have these dealerships for American cars,
too—the Jeep and the American Motors. Do
you try to give them some advice?

Oh, yes.

How do they react?

Well, just on Jeep—the other cars, we
don’t. We sell them and—. But on Jeep, which
is a big thing with us, and our men, they
have dealer meetings and factory meetings,
and they ask; you don’t have to volunteer,
they ask, “What would you like?” And then
we make—and they’re usually the same
suggestions—this, that, and the other thing,
but generally, they’re about what we want.
Few little things that they know about, like
it’s time for a new body on the Wagoneer.
That one came out in ’63. This is ’78—that’s
fifteen years. And it’s pretty, but it should be
modernized. They were going to do it ’79
or ’80, and then they keep moving it back,
and they don’t have as much money as the
other companies; and plus the fact that
Wagoneers have taken off, and lately they
keep increasing production and increasing,
so why change it when they’re sellin’ all they
can build? But we make suggestions. We
make suggestions to Ferrari, too, but more
merchandising than design. They do a super
job of design.

As kind of a related thing while you’re just
thinking about the car industry in general,

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209

would you like to discuss your participation in
the freeway planning through this area?

Oh, yeah, well, our position right from
the start was we wanted the freeway, number
one; and then number two, we wanted it as
close as feasible to downtown Reno. It was that
simple. And it couldn’t be south or north or
wherever, you know. Walter Baring got out—I
think somebody paid him. I think, without
any question, that nobody goes that far out on
a thing. And it got to be a political football.
But I’m happy where it is, but it could’ve gone
a lot of places, but I sure didn’t want it ten
miles north or ten miles south or right down
here. SO I think it’s fine where it is; it’s okay.
Maybe it’s too close to the University, I don’t
know.

I just wondered if you got involved in the
discussion, if some of your people got involved.

Oh yeah, well, we played it the way we
thought.

Would you like to describe that a little bit?

Oh, I did, more or less—we were just on
the edge. In the casino business, you don’t get
out in front. You know, that’s dumb ’cause you
feel like you maybe have too many people, you
know, and probably rightly so—say, you’re
tryin’ to run the town and makin’ a lot of
money and all. So it’s good to take a position;
I think it’s bad to say, “No comment” on
somethin’ like that. And we did, but we sure
didn’t want to be out in front where we could
get our chin hit. But I think our position was
no secret all along. But still Walter Baring—
and I didn’t agree with him at all—but still he
was our congressman, and I’m not gonna say,
“Walter Baring you’re a dirty so and so,” you

know. But I stated our whole thing, and that
was our position all along.

Did you communicate with Mr. Baring on it
or anything?

Well, I don’t—see, I’m always on the edge
of that sort of thing. But I knew what we were
doing, but I didn’t talk to Walter; I didn’t talk to
any of’em. Walter and I were real good friends.
Fact, I gave him a job one time when he had
been defeated; he had that one term and he was
between. And he had a terrible time, you know.
I think he had a child that was handicapped,
and he was just—.

This is a funny story—well, funny, pitiful
story. But that time we had maybe two or three
or four hundred employees, and I talked to the
manager—Bob Ring or whoever it was—and
said, “Find somethin’ for Walter to do. He just
is out of a job and he’s (you know)—doesn’t
have any money.”

And they looked and they looked and they
talked to him and they looked and they looked,
and they come back and they said, “There’s
nothin’ in the company [laughing] that Walter
could do!”

I think I got him his job, and—what was
his business?

He was in the furniture business for a while.

Yeah. In furniture, and then I got him a job
at HermannWilson. See, [Dudley] Wilson was a
real good friend of mine; I was buyin Chryslers,
plus, Wilson liked me. I knew more about cars
than he did, and he loved to talk car—he’d ask
questions, you know—’’Why do you like that
car?” And I’d tell him. We were friends. He’d
always get me the latest Chrysler sooner than
he should’ve and all that; he was a good guy. I
went to him, and I said, “Do me a favor.”

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William F. Harrah

And he said, “I sure will.” He was that kind
of a guy.

And so, here Walter wasn’t the smartest
guy in the world, but a lot of people know him
and like him, you know. And he was there for
I think maybe till he got reelected and was a—
one of the best jobs he had.

So Walter and I were friends till he died;
you know, you couldn’t help just liking him.

And I remember I stopped in Lovelock
or Winnemucca one time and, you know
how Walter got around the state, how he was
unbeatable ’cause he electioneered so great.
And I went in this bar, and I wanted to have
a—well, I didn’t drink when I was drivin’
much, so I went in the restaurant. Yeah, it
was— what’s his name that lost his license
over there in Lovelock?

Felix. I went in Felix’s to have a sandwich,
and Walter was there. And this was when he
was big and, you know. And he was smilin’
and talkin’ and—’’Bill! How are ya?” And he
come over, and I’d seen him a week before
or somethin’—but, shook hands and—”Sit
down, Bill. How are ya?” You know, “You give
me all the—.”

I said, “Walter, you don’t have to do that
with me. You know, I’m with you, you know.”
And he just kept right on goin’, just went right
through [laughing],

I remember I told my wife or whoever I
was with—I said, “Well, I’m sorry I took forty
minutes, but [laughing], that’s Walter Baring!”

But he did, and he was never in a hurry,
and he visited, and someone else’d come in,
and he’d go right through the whole thing with
them. And I think he genuinely liked people,
as you can’t do that without goin’ crazy, unless
you do like—.

But of Walter—he was all right. But he’s
better ’n some of those jerks back there—a
lot of them. But in the freeway, he was payin’

off a debt there, I guess. It was too bad it
took so long; it was dumb, but those things
happen.

But it’s sure nice it’s there; I use it quite a
bit, especially when my ex-wife—see, she lived
out on [Mayberry].

She lived out there, and I go see the boys
all the time. And I’d be at HAC, and to get
from there to Mayberry—and maybe I’m goin
over at five o’clock at night, you know, ’cause
the boys are out of school and they’re home
by then. And I did many hundreds—well,
countless times. And I would leave HAC and
go down onto McCarran, come down and
get on the freeway, “zzzzz” up here to the
second one after here (I think it is), and then
just down, and Mayberry, and right on out—
wonderful.

Having decent roads really means
a lot to your business, in general. I just
thought you might like to discuss that.

Well, within the last several years I’ve
driven to San Francisco at least once. I try
to do it every couple of years, and it’s such
a pleasure now. I remember last time I went
with Verna, and we’d never driven it before.
Talkin’ about Sacramento, I said, “We’ll be
there pretty soon.” And then I [turns head] —
there it was! [Laughing] You know, we just—!
’cause I remember for years there, the freeway
would go right up, and then there would be
a mile or two of city streets, and then more
freeway. And then, of course, they connected
it up, and you just went sailing through. It’s
just wonderful.

I enjoy that drive. I try to do it once a year
now— San Francisco to Reno or vice versa. It’s
amazing, you know; years ago it took much
longer than it does today—you know the
goofy speed limits they got.

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211

“Goofy Over Cars”

Will you summarize your feelings about your
“love affair” with automobiles?

Well, I like all cars, and I like new cars as
well as old ones. I keep up on what’s new in
the automotive world, I think. I read—like
my wife says, all I ever read is automobile
magazines; that isn’t really true, but it’s pretty
true [chuckling]. We take about everything
there is out at HAC, and they all come to
my office. And some I’ll automatically send
back, and then some that—maybe one I’ll
automatically send back, but there’s an
intriguing—I always look at the cover and
see what’s in it; maybe I’ll take it. And I take
fifteen or twenty home in a crack, and I read—
or I glance at two or three a night, usually.
And some are more interesting than others.
And so, “Oh, boy, there’s a So-and-so!” And I
do that, so I do keep up very well on modern
stuff.

And it’s nice now; years ago there were
no automobile publications that amounted
to anything. Motor Trend came out and Road
and Track. I mean there were none in united
States, where they’ve always had them in
England. In fact, I used to buy automobile
magazines always from England, and then
just the last fifteen or twenty years from the
united States. But as I said, I keep up on ’em,
and then the newest car I’m interested in. And
some cars I’m—makes of cars I prefer.

We have the many dealerships in Reno,
which just came about by love of cars. I got
the Rolls Royce dealership because I was
buyin Rolls Royces. And I had no thought of
being a dealer, but I was having difficulty—
the distributor in San Francisco was a little (I
still think he’s a little stodgy or whatever the
word was) —he was a little difficult to deal

with. Who knows, the ego thing or what—
but I think I’m right on that. We were buying
many Rolls Royces for the company ’cause I
like them as a prestige—I wasn’t a Rolls Royce
guy, but my wife of the time had a Rolls. And
we were buying limousines, and it was rather
difficult. And then somehow it hit me, or I
figured out, or it became apparent that if I was
a dealer, it would be very helpful; I could go
to the factory, I could do this and that. And I
would still have to work through him, but it
gave me a lot more. And it was offered, and
so I accepted.

It was just a two-way thing to get Rolls
Royces faster and cheaper and a better—
which I did—I went to the factory, which
you cannot go to the factory unless you are a
dealer. But I had no thought of selling Rolls
Royces in Reno—I mean that’s ridiculous.
But we opened up; we put out a sign, “Rolls
Royces,” and we’ve always sold, oh, six to
twelve a year— (now, of course, it’s more).
And then well, that includes many of em to
our stars, like—I can’t think of a star, a big star,
that hasn’t bought one or more Rolls Royces
from us. And, well, of course, we give ’em a
good deal. Like Sammy Davis must’ve bought
ten over the years, and Frank Sinatra, two or
three. Our top stars like, oh, Neil Sedaka. I
think Bill Cosby’s about the only one—he’s a
Mercedes fella. We’ve gotten him, of course,
now that we have Mercedes, but for years I
got him Mercedes—just got ’em, you know,
went out of my way to find one and get it for
him at a good price.

But then the Rolls came along, and then
Ferrari, which again that was it—I was a
Ferrari guy. There was a lady distributor that
was—didn’t like—well, I got the agency. I
was havin’ trouble getting Ferraris. So I had
a chance to buy the agency, the Reno area.
And then I couldn’t get cars because of this

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William F. Harrah

lady—didn’t like my manager and so on; it was
a big hassle. And finally I got that straightened
out.

And then for no reason—I don’t know
yet, ’cause I was real happy to have the agency,
and then Ferrari—and I mean the company
and the man—and I forget how it came
about—if it was orally or a letter or what.
They said, “Would you like to be west coast
distributor?”—which is generally west of the
Mississippi. I think we have twenty-some
states distributed on, and we have the dealers.

And I said, “Gee whiz, yes! Wow! Sure!”
And so the paperwork started, and I kept
thinkin, “One of these days, I’m gonna get a
bill or a—say, ‘Well, now that’s gonna cost you
so much. And it never happened.

And they’ve been—course, we’ve gone
out of our way to be a good distributor, you
know. And there are things about being a
good distributor, in other words, like you want
to be good with the factory. Ferrari, which
they like to get their money when the—and
then even when our credit is good. They want
their money when the car goes on the ship
over in— it’s either Italy, or they ship out of
Germany (Hamburg). And that’s, you know,
thirty days before we get the cars; and of
course, the accountants and even my lawyer
say, “Well, gee, that’s not fair!” Well, that’s not
the point; Ferrari wants it that way, and boy,
they’re the guys that sell you the cars. And
they’re doing you a big favor: they’re sellin
you the car at five to ten thousand dollars
less than you can sell it for, why, you should
be real nice to them, so I do it exactly the way
they want. So we’re a good distributorship;
they like us very much, which I’m proud of,
because we work that.

And then also you gotta be super fair.
Tike we buy them at a very big discount. And
then we sell ’em to our dealers at wholesale.
But there’s a big markup in between there.

And there is a temptation—people come to
Reno to buy a Ferrari. We have a retail agency
here, and we have to be very careful to keep
the retail and the wholesale separate. Andwe
could sell ten Ferraris a day out of our (well,
that’s exaggerating a little but not too much)
—out of our retail store here. But in doing
that, a man comes from San Mateo and buys
a Ferrari here, we have a dealer in that area.
Well, that’s his prospect, not ours. So we’ll say,
“Hey,” you know, “go back and make your deal
with him. And if you want to come up here,
you can take delivery of the car here—that’s
fine. But you buy it from your—” (you know).

So we protect our dealers. They come at
you from every direction—just how to not
do that. And we do not violate the manager
who’s—Kyle’s his name; that’s his last name,
but we call him Kyle [Vein Kyle]. And he just
is so strong on that, and it’s been so good
for our reputation that we have an excellent
reputation—like we can tell a dealer, “I’m
sorry, we’ve only got so many cars; your
allotment is three—.” Well, they know that’s
all we can give ’em, that’s it. We’re not slippin’
this guy six or somethin’ because you know,
they’ve been around long enough to know we
just deal—here we got sixty cars, and four to
you, and four to him, and six to him because
he’s bigger, and you know.

But anyway, that’s been real profitable.
That’s the basis for all the other dealerships.
Jeep came along just because it was for sale
at a real good price, and the owner had lost
interest. And it was one of those opportunities
that you don’t believe would ever happen; you
don’t even think about it, and then it comes
along. I’ve been lucky in my life having many
of those. And something I do say, which a lot
of people do—but a lot of people don’t—and
is when an opportunity comes along and it’s a
good one, grab it! And so many people [say],
“Gee, I don’t really have the money,” or, “I

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213

don’t really—” you know, and they’ll argue
against themselves all the reasons for not
doin’ it, and miss it. And many times I’ve said
yes to things where I didn’t have the money
But I thought, “By God, I’m sure I can get it
somewhere.” Somebody—”Do you want so
and so for such and such?”

I say, “Yeah!” [Hits desk] “Let’s sign the
papers!” In the meantime, I’m runnin’ around
the back door of the bank, sayin’, “Hey! Need
a little money here!” Boy, when opportunity
knocks, you better open the door. That’s so
important.

Of course, most of those deals were
prethought, where it didn’t take a big decision
on my part. It was just something I’d love
to have, like the Jeep thing. I knew what it
was worth, I’d love to have it—but how? You
know. How am I ever gonna get it? The guy’s
had it for fifteen years, and he’s makin’ a lot
of money; it’s not for sale.

Same thing happened with Mercedes here,
which is a car I love. That was untouchable.
I thought, “Gee, I (you know)— I missed
that by twenty years.” And then I had a new
manager, who I’ll give him credit—that’s
Harvey Ewing. He’s the general manager of
all the agencies, which we needed when we
got more than one, and he’s an excellent man;
he’s from the east coast, and he does a tine job.
And we were talkin’ Mercedes, and we were
talkin’ about openin’ one at Tahoe if we could,
and this and that, because its such a wonderful
car and there’s such a demand for it.

And one day he said, “Well, why don’t we
go ask Bill Sullivan,” who was the Mercedes
dealer, “if he wants to sell it.” And I hadn’t
even thought of it.

And I said, “Well, all right. But (you know)
why would he sell it, it’s such a wonderful thing.”

And we went in and he was in the mood to
sell, and gee, just a couple of weeks we’d made
a deal on it, which was just unbelievable. A

good Mercedes agency’s as good as anything
you can have because they’re such super cars,
and there’s a big profit in each one. And you
can sell all you can get; you know, you’re livin’.

Are these car agencies part of the Harrah’s
Corporation, or all separate?

No, that’s separate. Well, you know, there’s
a good reason for that: one, is I’m a car person;
and two, Harrah’s— it’s not their business.
They’re in the casino and recreation, hotel,
that—and so they shouldn’t be in the car
business.

So you own the car agencies.

Yes, that’s strictly separate. And all the
stuff in Idaho, I own separate.

See, we have Jeep and American Motors;
that’s one place. And Modern Classic
Motors—that’s where we have Ferrari and
also the offices for the wholesale. And that’s
where they come in—Ferrari. And we have
Rolls Royce, and we have Aston Martin, Fiat,
and BMW, which is a real good item. That’s
an excellent car. And that Mercedes—we
have Mercedes and Datsun. Mercedes is the
prestige—as good a car as there is, including
Rolls Royce. And then we have Datsun for
volume, and we sell, ooh, like last month we
sold a hundred and fifty Datsuns. [Chuckles]
That amazing? Uh-huh.

And then in Idaho—in Ketchum, Idaho—I
have the Jeep agency and I have Volkswagen
and Audi and Porsche, which is kinda nice
because it’s a little different line. And Jeep
is wonderful for that country. And then the
other was there. And it’s nice to—you know—
like somebody wants a Volkswagen, a friend,
why—. A new Volkswagen diesel is quite a car.
A few friends of mine have wanted them, and
I’ve been able to get ’em for em.

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William F. Harrah

That’s a very small volume up there, but it’s
also nice and—I’m in Sun Valley, which I’m
there a lot, and I get up and have breakfast,
so I like a place to go, and I can go down to
the agency, say, “How’s business?” and “The
garage floor is dirty,” and, you know, a few
things. It’s really a fun thing with me.

We took it over and had a little tiny shop,
and we made the shop about six times bigger.
In fact, it’s the best shop in that area—Sun
Valley and Ketchum and Hailey. And so we
get a lot of work from every kind of car there
is ’cause most of the dealers up there just have
a little, you know, seat-of-the-pants garage
in the back. And ours is good. So we do real
good in the shop, even though we don’t sell
too many cars. It’s a fun thing; it really is fun.

You must be stretching out to be becoming one
of the largest foreign car dealers in the country,
then, aren’t you?

Oh, I don’t know. There’s some real big
ones—you know, in big cities. But in numbers,
it’s just—we’re not lookin’ for anything; it’s just
a good one. A lot of cars I wouldn’t want to
have; most American cars, I just don’t have
any interest for ’em. Not that they’re not all
right; for the money they’re excellent. But
just they’re not my kind of car. And I have no
desire to be a Pontiac dealer ever! Pontiac’s
okay; Oldsmobile’s okay, you know. And the
only American cars outside of Jeep, I would
consider Cadillac in the right place.

You have the American Motors dealership,
though.

Well, that comes from Jeeps. That’s an
automatic thing, which doesn’t hurt anything,
and also it makes the factory like you
better—you’resellin them, too [chuckles]. It’s
important! [Chuckling]

But those are fun. I’m goofy over cars—
old cars, new cars, all kinds of cars.

And it’s interesting, too, over the years
how you change, you know. You change;
you’re not the person you were twenty years
ago at all. And I’m not either, of course. And
like with cars, I can remember many cars we
have in the museum and when I was a kid,
like a ’24 Essex coach, I thought was one of
the “awfulest” cars ever made. And the reason
was it had been a real good four-cylinder car,
and they came out with a kind of a bum six
cylinder. And the lines got worse—it was real
boxy; it was real square—and they were very
popular ’cause it was a very low price. And I
can remember workin in the parking lot, how
I hated those Essex coaches! I just thought
that’s the worst car anybody could ever
think—. And today I think they’re real cute,
you know. And we have one in the museum,
you know. “Look at that—[points].” It’s a cute
little car, which is—many cars like that.

And other cars, you know, as a kid, I
thought were so super; well, now I know that
they really weren’t, but I was lookin’ at ’em
through the eyes of a fifteen-year-old kid,
and now I’m lookin’ at ’em from an older kid.
I’m more interested in other things, maybe.
I generally like all cars; there’s very few cars I
don’t like.

Which ones are they, the ones you really don’t
like?

Oh, in antique cars hardly any, except—.
I don’t have any names offhand, but there
were just some cars that just didn’t make any
sense right from the start. And they went
out of business; just they were—compared
to a competitor, maybe they weren’t as good
lookin’, didn’t have as much horsepower, and
didn’t handle as good and cost two hundred
dollars more—you know, just, what’s their

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215

excuse for bein’? You wonder why they even
went into it. And of course, they failed. Any of
those cars, they’re just a—I call ’em a nothin’
car.” And we have a few in the museum; and
we call it that, you know. What’s that—’cause
that’s a nothin’ car. Look, here’s 1927—look at
that and (you know). Ninety horsepower, so
much, da da da da da da da da da. And this
is a sixty-four horsepower and—you know,
not too good lookin’. No wonder they didn’t
even last till the crash; they went out in ’27,
you know. They’re not only car things; they’re
example of life and business and how to do
things, how not to do things.

And like Henry Ford was such a
tremendous success, he got production down,
and he watched cost, so he got the price of
his product down. And he was sellin’, you
know, up to a million a year, and one time he
had eighty percent or ninety percent of the
American market. And he’s sellin all he could,
and sellin the Ford for three hundred and
fifty dollars, and he would cut it to three and
a quarter, which doesn’t make sense, but still,
then he sold another two hundred thousand.
That extra twenty-five or fifty dollars made
that difference, which made it all up to him,
and a profit, plus. So a lot of good economic
ideas in that. Put out a good product, which
Ford knew, at the lowest possible market
price, you know, where you can make a fair
profit, and that’s the way to go.

And we watch that today in business, you
know. Like I’m not as active as I was, but you
know, I keep track. Like any pricing of our
restaurants, that all has to go through me, you
know. And of course, our costs go up all the
time, and everything is more and more, and
wages are more and more, and they’ll come
through and recommend an increase in our
menu prices. And boy, I really look at every
one. And just, you know, why charge a dollar
seventy-five if you can sell it for a dollar sixty

and have a fair profit. And then you want to
watch that; you know, you think the fifteen
cents doesn’t matter—it does matter. And
somebody comes in and, you know— and it’s
a dollar sixty here and it’s a dollar seventy-five
at the Mapes; well, gee whiz, why go to the
Napes? Let’s go to Harrah’s. Well, they walk
by, and maybe puts a quarter in the machine,
plus a good word for us. So, that’s the way you
do things. Always keep your prices down. But
you gotta protect yourself.

What about some of the modern cars, then,
that you really don’t like?

[Chuckles] Oh, let me think. Well, they
all have their good points. Buick’s never been
a big favorite of mine. And I don’t know
why, just maybe because it was “America’s
car” or middle-class America or something.
And there are some real outstanding Buicks,
like the ’42 Buick Century was one of the
outstanding cars ever—a real hot performer.
And in ’42, Packard and Buick were the cars,
and I was a Packard guy, but if I hadn’t got a
Packard, I’d’ve got a Buick. Like today Buick
just is a car—so what? Except they did come
about with a turbo charger, which is kinda
revolutionary for Buick. And Buick does get
the short shrift of many things, like in General
Motors—Buick is part of General Motors,
and General Motors has had a policy for
years, which I wouldn’t knock; it’s probably
very good. Anything new, revolutionary, or
different they want to try out, Oldsmobile
always got it. Like the first front drive and the
first—I can name ya— first automatic, so and
so and so and so—Oldsmobile always got. So
they’re more innovative—well, it’s not really
Oldsmobile; it’s really General Motors—just
prefers to try it in that level price. But Buick’s
okay—someone buys a Buick, you know,
which it’s kind of a “so what?” car.

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William F. Harrah

But Ford’s a favorite of mine, generally,
but they built some awful ones, some of those
Thunderbirds. The first Thunderbirds were
cute, and they made a lot of sense. Then they
kept makin’ ’em, which is common practice;
it’s how you do it in the United States. Like
their annual model here is dumb. In Europe,
why, they come out with a car that’s good, and
they build it the same way year after year. Then
that sensible modification comes along—you
do it, which makes sense and that. So I’m not
too in favor of the annual change, but they do
it. Put a little more geegaws on, but I guess
American public likes it that way. But like
your Thunderbird— ’55—it was a wonderful
car. And ’56, ’57 was okay. Then ’58 was a
little longer, and ’59 and ’50s it just got to be
a The early ’50s cars (or the ’50s cars) handled
good, you know. Later, they just got to be just a
barge, just another thing in Thunderbird, and
little ol’ ladies drove ’em which is all right; a
little of lady should have a car, but it just lost
me entirely, and lost a lot of people.

And, of course, Corvette, which was
similar, not identical—similar, that was a
sports car, and it really was, and they’ve kept
it. And Corvette has always been a sports car.
I’ll give Chevy credit, course, they had so
many other models that Chevy alone covers
almost the whole market; you can reach
anything you want in a Chevrolet; that’s a
good car; that’s a very good car. Ford and
Chevy are excellent.

But cars I don’t like are—well, there aren’t
too many any more. Well, Oldsmobile’s a kind
of a nothin’ car. That’s like a Buick; it’s just for
middle-class America. I mean it’s a fine car
for General Motors and for the American
public; for me it’s just an uninteresting car,
just [shrugs]—. So I can’t say they’re a bad
car; they’re just uninteresting. There were
some bad cars years ago. Today there aren’t
any bad cars; they’re all pretty good.

You know, the problems they have to
go through with the unions and the cost of
materials and all, I’m amazed they can do
it, but they sure can. Those big companies—
especially General Motors—they do it so well.
Ford is very good.

Chrysler’s always having problems; they
never have got it on correctly. I mean they’ve
built some good cars, but they always have
a tough time with their finances and things.
They’ve always been that way, since the early
’30s. Chrysler’s always been—and they get a
new management and come out with some
neat stuff. And they always have a big load
of debt, and their factories are kind of pass—
usually, and it costs ’em more to put—you
know, Plymouth costs more to build than an
equivalent Ford or Chevrolet. So they have a
handicap there.

Some of these things just seem to come and then
die out forever, like the rumble seat. What does
the rumble seat mean to you ?

Well, that made a lot of sense, ’cause I
had cars with a rumble seat. But it was just
a way of taking two more people along. It
was real “now” (and I suppose it is today)
to have a roadster or a convertible coupe—a
two-passenger car. If you had a, you know,
four passenger, it was your folks’ car; or five
passenger, it was your folks’ car, or you were
kinda weird, you know. You had—there was
just no hesitancy. And my first car was a
roadster. My second car was a cabriolet. And
my roadster didn’t have a rumble seat, and
only because they didn’t put ’em in that car.
But the cabriolet, the ’29 Ford, did have a
rumble seat. And it didn’t hurt the appearance
of the car when it was closed; and when at was
open, why, it was so handy to take a couple of
friends along. It made a lot of sense; it really
did.

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217

The other thing that has gone is the convertible.

Well, that’s just in United States, as
every other country builds convertibles. Fiat
builds convertibles, and Rolls Royce builds
convertibles. Just United States. And I don’t
know why; it’s not illegal. Fact, there’s a lot of
body shops turning, you know, those so-called
hardtops into convertibles nowadays. Just the
factories decided to do that; I don’t know why,
’cause it’s not a safety thing, necessarily. I don’t
ride in a convertible—I don’t believe they’re
as safe as a hardtop, but still motorcycles are
legal—why, gee whiz, a convertible ought to
be legal. You know, it’s up to the individual.

Oh, I had a ’32 Ford and a ’33 Ford
convertible. And then I got smart. That was
my last convertible and never had one since.
I may have told you that already, how unsafe
they are, you know.

Well, one good example was Tom Mix
[chuckles]; that’s goin’ way back. And he
was a big star. And he got killed in a Cord
convertible down in Arizona. He was drivin’
fast, which is okay, but he hit this wash—and
there’s a place down there now (it’s still there),
and they have a little marker— “This is where
Tom Mix died.” And he hit this thing at eighty
miles an hour, and his Cord tipped over on
him and squashed him flat.

That was when, I remember at the time,
I’d just gotten out of my ’33 convertible, and I
had a Lincoln Zephyr (a hardtop); and I had
been convinced—friends of mine had been
hurt. So I was makin’ speeches whenever
anybody’d listen against convertibles. Then
he died, and then I added him on. And then
I had a whole list at one time of various movie
stars, celebrities, that had gotten drunk and
run off the road and tipped over and killed
themselves. And if they’d been in a hardtop,
they probably wouldn’t’ve. A very dear friend
of mine got killed in a convertible, so it just—

they’re not safe. I’ll ride in a convertible, but
I’m super careful.

And then, of course, the old cars, they’re
all open, or most of ’em are. But that’s a
different world when you’re drivin them. And
you’re not goin as fast, and you’re driving
very defensively. And [I’m] happy to say that
general public, modern cars, give you [old
cars] a lot of leeway; they’re very kind—
ninety-nine percent. And of course, you
gotta watch for that one percent. But most of
’em just, you know, they stop, and they wave
and let you through—. You’re cornin’, and it’s
their turn to come out, and they’ll just stay
and [gestures wave] “C’mon,” you know, So
the old cars— it’s very easy. Modern car, a
convertible isn’t. That’s the law of averages.
You could drive a convertible every day for
ten years and nothin’. But then, some idiot’s
thinkin’ about somethin’ else or he’s drunk,
comes through a boulevard stop at forty miles
an hour and hits you in the side, and over you
go, and—you’ve had it.

What kind of a car really do you think expresses
your personality the best? I mean, when you
think of “Bill Harrah,” what kind of car do you
think of?

Oh, a twelve-cylinder Ferrari—huh!
[Chuckles] See, Ferrari built nothin’ but
twelve-cylinder cars for years, and he still
builds—well, all of his race cars are twelve
cylinder. I like twelve cylinders—just the
sound is good, and there’s engineering reasons
that a twelve-cylinder engine is an excellent
design. But I’ve just loved twelve-cylinder
Ferraris since my first one, which was in ’58.
They sell twelve-cylinder Ferraris in Europe,
but they don’t import ’em over here because
of the crash thing. And they’ve come out
with an eight cylinder, which we sell. It’s an
excellent car, go a hundred and fifty miles an

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William F. Harrah

hour and everything; it’s a Ferrari— Ferrari
quality, Ferrari design, Ferrari engineering.
But to me it isn’t the kick that the—.

So I have a twelve—I had a twelve cylinder
I was driving, and then it was an illegal car and
I got caught up with. And they just pull the car
out, you know; they confiscate the car. So then
I got another one recently, and I’m having it
legalized right now in California, which by
doing that, they’re putting in the crash things
and the emission control, all that—things that
are left off of’em in Europe. So I’m expecting
that; I get a daily report on it. In fact, it’s—
huh! [chuckles]—I’m so interested. Here it
is in Kyle’s report—”No approval to date for
the 400 automatic,” which is the first Ferrari
I ever had with an automatic transmission,
which doesn’t matter—I like the shift. But
they’re workin on it in L.A., and everything’s
approved—I think the bumpers aren’t legal
yet. So we had to change the bumpers. There’s
a fella that does it down there for a living—he
modifies illegal cars into legal cars. So I should
get it this month. And I just can’t wait! That’ll
be my fun car.

Their engines are so unbelievable, how
good they are. And they’ve been building
the same engine fundamentally since they
started, and that’s the ’40s to the ’70s—that’s
thirty years. Just it’s a little bigger, or it’s
quite a bit bigger; the design’s exactly the
same. And it’s the same engine they race.
And that’s why they’re so good, you know.
The race engines are almost identical with
the passenger car engine. You know, you can
turn ’em seventy-five hundred r.p.m., eight
thousand, and things that you can’t even
think of doin’ with most cars. And they last
forever. They’re just so well made— just a
super car.

In fact, I’m goin to the factory the first
of June again— I’ve been there several times.
I love to go, just to see ’em building ’em and

the engineering and all. And I stayed away—
well, I’ve been there three times. And then
the public relations man (or whatever) ,
Manicardi, was here last month, or recently;
he doesn’t come around as often as we like.
And he’s a brilliant man. He’s been with
Ferrari—one of the few people that’s been
with Ferrari since he started. And, of course,
Manicardi speaks nine million languages.
And I’ve known him since I’ve had Ferraris.
We’re friends, I’d say.

So he was here. And we had dinner and
the whole thing, and visited, and he looked
at our new place and da da da da da, and how
many cars we’re gonna get this year—just very
pleasant. And he said, “When are you cornin’
to the factory?”

And I said, “Well, I don’t have any plans.”

And he said, “Well, you should!”

And I said, “Well—.” And Kyle, our
manager goes every year. And I said, “Well,
I don’t like—” I said, “I’d come every month,
but,” I said, “I just don’t want to bug you.”
[Laughter]

And I can just picture—’’Harrah’s cornin’,
and oh my God, we gotta take him to lunch,
and we’re so busy today and—.” And Mr.
Ferrari, who’s very important, and you get to
meet Mr. Ferrari.

And I thought, “Why, there’s a million
things he’d rather do than meet me.” I can
picture it at HAC, you know, and I’m not
“anti-people.” But someone wants to write a
letter—you know, “Mr. Harrah,” so and so,
“and I’ve admired you,” and da da da. “I’m
coming out sometime; could I get to say hello?
And I want—” you know.

And I—’’Sure, sure! Yeah, fine, why not?”

And so it’s always when your desk is like
this, and the phone’s ringin’, and so on, so on,
and then they’ll say, “Well, Mr. So-and-so is
here.”

I—’’Who’s that?”

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219

So—’’Well, he wrote you, and you said you
could see him.”

And I say, “Today?”

“Yeah, here’s his letter,” you know.

So you gotta—you know, I know how it

is. And they come in, and your mind isn’t on

it, and it’s—so—. Maybe Mr. Ferrari’s better
organized than I am (I don’t know)—hope so.
[Laughter]

But anyway, I said, “Okay, I’m cornin’
over.”

And he said, “Well, when?”

And I said—which shows that he meant
it. And I said, “Well, I’m gonna pick up my
boy in Lugano on June first.”

And he said, “Well, that’s perfect!” ’cause
he said, “I’m gonna be there and Mr.—” (see,
he traveled a lot). And he said, “Mr. Ferrari’s
gonna be there,” or “II Commendatore,” and
uh—(which is an Italian title kind of, which
he uses, and he doesn’t use). But he said,
“We’re both gonna be there, and so we have
an appointment for June fifth, Monday.”

And I said, “Well, can I bring my boy? He’s
a car nut.”

He said, “Bring him along!”

So I’m goin’ back to the factory then. And
John, of course, that’ll be his first time there.
That’ll be a big thrill going to the Ferrari
factory.

Also, Mr. Ferrari—I don’t know why
he—I guess he likes me or something, or
maybe it’s ego on my part—but I told you,
the distributorship—and I’m sure you don’t
give things away, but he took me for a ride
one time—. He can’t speak English, and I can’t
speak Italian, but we can communicate fine.
And the new—it was a 1969; I have a picture
of it; it was a new model, entirely new. I’d
never even seen one (I’d read about it). And
they had one there, and he took me for a ride
in it. And just Mr. Ferrari and I—what a thrill
that was! And he’s an old-time race driver,

you know. And at that time, he was seventy
years old—the next day. And so he drove me,
and he just drove beautifully, just like an ex¬
race—just perfect, just zip zip zip zip zip zip
[gestures wheel turning].

But every time I go, he visits with me and
he does it so nice. And we have an interpreter
there. “How’ve you been? How are things in
Nevada,” da da da da da—. And he does it—
which I learned something from him was, he
does it as though he had the whole day. And
you know damn well he’s got a hundred other
things. But he’d just sit there, you know, and
he’s so relaxed and da da da and, you know,
da da da, and “Tell me more,” you know. And
I’m sure that he just would rather do other
things—you know—maybe the first three
minutes, but after that I’m sure he’d rather do
a million things than talk to me! So in fact, I
have to tell myself—’cause I’m so intrigued,
you know, and I’m always learnin’ somethin’
about the new model or somethin’—but I
have to force myself to leave, you know. In
fact, when I have someone—like I took Rome
Andreotti one time ’cause he could interpret,
you know, and he was along anyway, so it made
it nice. And he got to see the factory. But I said,
“Rome, kick me in the ankle after about—”
and he did, you know. About ten minutes, I’m
goin’ and Rome’ll go— [laughter].

Last time I was there was—and he
might’ve just been feeling good. You said
I’m too modest, but I know it wasn’t my
personality. But instead of just siftin' in his
office, he indicated he wanted to show me
around. He took me through the factory, and
of course, I’d been through the factory before.
But he took me, and they had a new addition
that he showed me, and we’re walkin’—and of
course, what a thrill it was to walk through
the factory with Mr. Ferrari because every
workman there, you know, almost saluted
when he walked by.

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William F. Harrah

And so as I told you, Manicardi met me
and all, and then Mr. Ferrari and I left. And
he showed me through the factory, and he
took me in the engine—where they test the
engines, which I—Id been in there, but I’ll tell
you about it. It’s very interesting in that every
Ferrari engine is broken in before you get the
car because—so you can take a Ferrari out and
drive it a hundred and fifty miles and hour the
day you get it. And they run ’em in, and they
have—you go in, and it’s a soundproof place.
You go in there—it’s terribly noisy. And they
have individual closed—like maybe so by so
[about six feet by four feet]. There’s a glass and
a door, and you can look in (it’s a room); and
there’s an engine that’s hooked up to power
things, so it’s under power—under load. Just
to run an engine free with no load, you’re
not accomplishing anything; but under load
it’s the same as breakin’ it in. So they run ’em
for—well, enough hours, so they’re broken in.
And there’ll be maybe ten, twelve engines in
a row—[loudly] rrrrrrrr! And there’s gauges,
you know, so this one has so many hours; that
one has so many hour [s]. (I told earlier about
the wind tunnel room.)

course, I’m not gonna tell anybody about
their designs. And of course, I’m like a little
kid—there were maybe fifty of ’em—the old
ones, which I knew, and then the newer ones.
But he’s walkin’ through, and I can’t stop, you
know, but I’m lookin’ [laughter] and wishin’
I had photographic brain so I could picture
’cause there were some far-out designs there,
which are top secret, of course. And I could
see, you know, this is the ’78 Ferrari, and that
is the ’80 Ferrari, and there’s the ’82 to ’3. That
was a happy day!

I took delivery at the factory one time, a
Ferrari, too. That was a fun thing. I’d always
wanted to do that, so I thought, “Well, I’ll
do it.” It was the new model, which was very
exciting. So I got there and went to the factory,

and I didn’t know anybody then hardly. See, I
was a dealer then; I wasn’t a distributor. That
was ’61, ’62. And I got it—and of course, I can
drive okay, but I was a little nervous about
driving over there. I’d read all the manuals,
you know, no speed limit; I loved that. So I
thought, “Well, how am I going to do this?”
There were several places I wanted to go over
there. And I thought, “Well, I’ll just try it.” But
it was a little tiny car. And my wife and I, we
had a lot of luggage; no way could we do it.

So we started from (where’d we start
from?) Rome, and we hired a car and driver.
We said, “We want a driver for five days to a
week, a car, and we want a station wagon,”
which are kinda scarce over there, but we got
one. I think it was a Fiat, of course. That was
a pretty good car. And we had this driver who
we got to like, and he drove the station wagon
with the luggage. And so then we worked it
out, and it just worked slick. The towns are
very confusing, and no way—like I tried to get
through some towns, and I’d have a map. And
you’d go, and you weren’t sure which street,
and some streets didn’t have road signs. And
then you’d stop, and you’d say, “Where is so-
and-so?”

And they’d go, “Doobladada,” you know—
just hopeless!

So I did that, and it was just very
frustrating. So I thought, “We’re doin’ this
wrong.” And then I figured it out. And so
I had this Italian-speaking fella, so here we
come to a town, and he would drive through.
And I’d follow him, and then we’d get on the
edge and he would—knew all what I wanted.
As soon as we got on the outskirts, then the
road and the signs were fine; you couldn’t
miss the road. So then I’d go down the road
a hundred miles an hour, whatever I felt like
driving, and we had a point we would meet.
And maybe if it was lunch, why we’d meet,
you know, and sometimes he’d be helpful

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221

there, although that wasn’t as necessary, but
it was good to keep in touch. And then when
we’d come to a city— like we went to urn—
what’s that big shipping port on the west of
Italy?

It’s big, like all the cars come out of there.
It’s a big industrial—. But we went through
there, and it was just absolutely impossible—I
could still be there, ten years later. But I got
behind him, and he just went zip zip zip zip
zip zip. And we got to the edge, and away I
went.

So then I was heading for Monaco; I’d
never been there, or I hadn’t been there in
years. So we drove to Monaco, and that was
a funny experience. We got there, and the
Ferrari was—you know, eyes—boy, look at that
car! It was a new model, and everybody’s real
excited. So we drove up to the custom—when
we left Italy, no problem. And then we came
up to the border and to Monaco, principality
of Monaco. And so the fellas, or two of ‘em
came out, and they looked at the car, and they
looked—or, “Open the hood,” so I opened the
hood. And they wanted my papers, so I had
the papers; I had Nevada plates on it. But I had
the title; I had everything, you know. And they
looked at ’em they looked at ’em, and, “Oooh,”
they looked, and oh, they’re frowning and all
and—(jabber, jabber)!

And I said, “Well, I don’t know what—
what are you talking about?”

(Jabber) real excited, you know.

And I remember my wife said, “Well, gee
whiz,” you know, “boy!”

And I said, “Well, cool it—we’ll do what
we can.”

And I actually thought there was somethin’
terrible wrong and they were gonna confiscate
the car or something. It was just—yelling and,
“Yah! Yah!” you know.

So then he—I was ahead of him—so
then he came up, you know. And he come

walkin’ up, and he said, “What’s the matter,
Mr. Harrah?”

I said, “I don’t know!” I said, “I gave him
the green ticket, and I gave him this, and I
gave him my title and the numbers. And they
looked at the motor number, and it’s the same
as on here. I don’t know what the beef is.”

So he said, “Well—.” So he took ’em,
and he—(jabbers). And they kinda went in
the office and—(jabbers), and I’m lookin’;
you could see—it was glass, you know.
(Jabbers) And then they’re laughin’ [imitates
laughing]. And so he came out and he said,
“We can go.”

And I said, “Okay.” And I got in the car
and very carefully started it, and I thought,
“Hope so.”

And we started out, and as I left the
two fellas, they went like this [salutes), you
know—’’Well, fine!” So I got down the road,
and I don’t know if I stopped right away— I
might’ve; but it wasn’t far to the hotel anyway,
just a few hundred yards. I said, “What did
you do? What, what, what, what?”

And he said, “I gave ’em a dollar!”
[Laughter] Or a thousand lire, whatever
it was! And all we wanted was a little help
[laughing]. That’s the way it is over there,
especially, you know. And you hardly ever get
turned down no matter who it is—. I actually
thought for a minute, “I’m gonna lose this nice
new car, my—!”

Then we drove all over. We went into
Switzerland in the car and we had a wonderful
time. I haven’t done it since— love it over there; I
love to drive over there, but it just— it isn’t worth
it with the car behind and the whole thing. Now
I just rent a car and a driver—sit back and enjoy
it. I have one driver I use quite a bit, so—.

Do you have any superstitions about cars?

No.

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William F. Harrah

Or some personal superstitions that are kind
of acted out through your cars?

No. Sorry [chuckles].

Or something that you think of as sort of
folktales around cars, about the way some car
came into being, or that some cars are “lucky”
and some cars are “unlucky,” more than just
safe or unsafe?

Oh. They’re all lucky. I don’t think so.
There are some fables and many of those—
they’re just untrue, you know, like Henry Ford
saying you can have a Ford Model T—he did
say it. You can have any color you want as long
as it’s black (that’s when they only made ’em
black). And that was true, but that was just for
a short time, ’cause the first Fords were (what)
multicolor—1903, 1904, through 1913 or
‘14—you could get colored Fords. They came
in colors. Black was unusual, or none. Then
about ‘ 15 they were all black till ’26, and then
they were colors again. So it was just ten-year
period that it was true. Some people—the way
it was interpreted was that all Model T Fords,
or all Fords, were black and they weren’t at all.
A lot of pretty colors.

But I don’t know. Sorry.

Do you have some favorite advertising slogans,
some of the things that you think sold more
cars? Americas’ car ”—.

Oh, I don’t know any slogans that actually
sold any. It just had a slogan ’cause it’s the
popular thing or customary thing to do. I
think Chevrolet’s slogan for years when I was
in Chevies was “Economical.” But that isn’t
why I bought my Chevy [laughing],

They used to have that thing about, “Watch
the Fords go by.”

Yeah. It doesn’t hurt anything, but I don’t
think it sells any really. But you’re advertising,
you gotta say somethin’. See, Ford didn’t
advertise for years, you know. And things
were goin’ good, and the Model T days, he
didn’t advertise. Later they started.

There’s a new book out on the history
of Ford I just finished—really a wonderful
one, best one I ever read. I read it on my trip
over to Australia. And it starts with Henry,
Sr. when he was an electrician engineer for
the Detroit Power Company and right on up
through today and Henry II (the second). It’s
a behind-the-scenes kind of a story, and I can’t
think of the name of it.

It’s not flattering to Henry, and it’s not—
see, many books on Henry Ford, Sr., he was
just perfect; he did—and a lot of’em, of course,
he engineered, and—. He was a genius,
he was perfect, his life was perfect, and all
that. And in this book it tells where he was
perfect and where he wasn’t perfect; it’s very
revealing there. And Edsel, it tells a lot about
him and where he was perfect and where he
wasn’t. And I knew Henry, Sr. was very tough
on Edsel, although it was his only son and
delighted with him and very proud of him; but
still he dominated him just somethin’ terrible.
Edsel couldn’t claim—and you know, there
were millions of dollars—Edsel had millions
of dollars in there, but he couldn’t call his, you
know—just couldn’t make too good decisions;
it was very pitiful. And that’s true.

And then how the company and old
Henry dominated it, and he was an old, over-
the-hills guy, and the company was losin’
millions of dollars a month, you know. And
then Edsel’s widow and I think Mrs. Ford,
Sr. got together with Henry, and he was in
his twenties (Henry, second [Henry II]), and
by a coup took over the company and saved
the company. The way it was goin’—Harry
Bennett, Ford had hired years before as kind

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223

of a strikebreaker and a bodyguard, and it
got where Harry Bennett was running the
company, and just he totally dominated Ford
for many years and just makin’ all kinds of
terrible decisions. And if it had gone on that
way, the Ford Motor Company would’ve gone
bankrupt. Henry, Jr. [II] in his twenties took
over, and here he is president of this. And then
it tells how he—and he did—he’s no brilliant
guy; he wasn’t very good in school, but he’s
just a commonsense guy. And a few slogans
he used in there that I’ve kept—like one I like
very much is (oh let me get it right)—um—.
Well, like he was recently caught driving in
California with a lady that wasn’t his wife; he
was drunk driving. That was within the last
year, in northern California there somewhere
around Pebble Beach or somethin’. And he
was arrested by the highway patrol, and in
the paper here it is—’’Henry Ford II arrested
drunk driving with a twenty-three-year-old
model,” da da da, and he’s married, you know.
And you think, “Wow, what’s goin on?” It’s in
the book.

He says, “Whenever somethin’ like that
happens,” he says, “and the press gets on ya
(and all this),” he said (let me get it right, oh),
“don’t explain, don’t complain.” [Laughter]
Which, you know, we get, or we think we get a
lot of criticism or some criticism in the press,
and you know, “Oooh, why’d they say that?”
And also, “Why—why—” you know.

And the thing is—”No comment.”

Write what you want. “Don’t explain.
Don’t complain.”

He’s done a super job—Henry Ford II.
And it was tough, you know. Everybody
shootin at him from another angle.

Well, they’ve done a lot of good over the
years. And Henry Ford, he did a lot of good,
like he was the first man to—I think wages
were two-sixty, and he paid everybody five
dollars, when the going wage was two dollars

and sixty cents. Things like that. But he did a
lot of goofy things, too; like he had that peace
ship to Europe, you know, which was—. You
know, he was so successful, he got a big ego
and was thinkin’ of runnin’ for president.
Well, he did—he ran for senator in Michigan
(I think) and just got beat by a few votes, and
that hurt his pride. And then he decided on
this peace ship. And he told the then president
(I forget who it was); he won the cooperation
of the government. And they told him, “That
isn’t how we’re doin’ it. We’re workin’ hard,
we’re—” you know.

So then he did it on his own, and he got
a few friends and celebrities—I think he got
Edison in on it. But most of his friends just
said, “Well, that’s dumb!”

And he took this peace ship and went to
Europe with it. And everybody got to Europe,
and they just went, “What do you want?” You
know—’’Get out of here!”

So then when it was such a total failure,
then he took some big transoceanic steamer
home, you know—very quietly, and the peace
ship kinda -stuck back and Henry Ford snuck
back and you didn’t read any more about it!
And it cost him millions.

But it’s always interesting to me how
people handle their money, like I know I do
goofy things with mine sometimes, but, things
he would do with his and be real cheap in this
respect, and then, you know, real—you know,
money didn’t matter in the other.

Then one thing he did, it somebody did
him a favor, he really liked it (like from a
bellboy or somethin’), he’d give em a Ford,
which isn’t thousands of dollars; in those
days, at one time they retailed as low as two
hundred and sixty dollars. Probably his was
a hundred and some dollars—he was givin’
’em, you know. He did that quite often.

All in all he was quite a guy—Henry Ford,
Sr.

224

William F. Harrah

What do you think is in the future for the
automobile industry now, with the problems
of pollution and complaints about spoiling the
environment with the freeways and—?

Well, that just gets tougher all the time.
Like, you know, casino business or whatever
business you’re in gets tougher all the
time. There’s more government and more
restrictions, and you just do the best you
can, that’s all. It’s just gonna get tougher and
tougher, but I think twenty years from now
we’ll be still driving internal combustion;
there’ll be some electric and all that, but it’s
such a super design, so cheap to build and so
efficient, and they can get all the pollution
out of it just up to, you know, ninety percent,
which is quite reasonable. So I think they’ll
be smaller and lighter, and then they’ll change
the looks every once in a while so you get
interested, you know.

If you take care of a car—any car today—if
you take proper care of it, it’s good for sixty
to a hundred thousand miles with no trouble
at all. And so that’s ten to twenty years for
most people. So they’re not cornin’ back to
the market too often. My point was, maybe
you would normally come back in ten years.
But if they make one that’s kinda super
pretty, you might come back in eight years
(or something). They don’t change the design
to please themselves; they do it to sell cars,
which works pretty good, too. Especially like
that ’64 Mustang, you know, that was just a
revolutionary car. It was just a car whose time
was now. And of course, the Edsel—wasn’t
anything wrong with an Edsel except its time
was wrong. There’s two good examples: the
Mustang was just a tremendous success, and
Edsel was a tremendous failure. I wouldn’t
criticize either one.

The Collector of
Antique Cars

Now in antique cars, you want to start
right at the— where?

The beginning of your interest in antique cars.
Why antique cars instead of antique bedsteads
or something like that, you know?

Yeah, I was always interested in cars from
the time I was a little tiny boy Didn’t I tell you
about the hubcaps and radiator, nameplates
and things? Why I was always interested, I
was alone a lot because my father worked,
and where we lived it was very isolated—on
South Beach—we were about the only house
down there. Our only neighbors were a widow
and a daughter about my age and her mother
(the three of’em). They didn’t even have a car
’cause there was a streetcar there. And we had
cars, and that was it. And so my knowledge of
cars, or whenever a car would stop or we’d be
downtown, I’d look at all of ’em, and—kinda
self-taught. There’s a car I didn’t know (of
course, I knew Fords and things)—but a car I
didn’t know, then I’d go look at the hubcap or
the radiator, and then I would—just I didn’t

try to memorize it; it just was embellished in
my mind.

And I have one funny story—well, I have
a bunch of ’em, but one I like is the Isotta
Fraschini is a very famous Swiss car—oh, wait,
it isn’t Swiss; it’s—what the heck is it? I better
find that out. It’s like a Rolls Royce, but then
we have several of ’em. But the nameplate is
a big “IF.” And it impressed me when I saw
it, and down in Venice we didn’t get many
foreign cars. I remember Rolls Royces, the
big thrill down there, because it just wasn’t
that kind of neighborhood where those kind
of cars showed up. But this Isotta came down
there one time, and I saw it, and my father
came home that night, and I couldn’t wait
to ask him. I said, “I saw a new car today, an
‘if’!” [Laughs] course, he knew a lot about
American cars, but he didn’t know much
about European cars, so he was in the dark
as much as I was.

But another story I like to tell on that
was I did memorize these cars; I loved it.
And I had an uncle, Rod Burnham, who was
married to my aunt, Isabelle, and they were

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William F. Harrah

very close—my aunt and Rod and my father
and mother, and they palled around together
a lot—real good friends, and so we saw a lot
of ’em. And Rod knew a lot about cars, and
he always had an interesting car, kind of a
sporty car. And he knew a lot about cars,
but sometimes he was a little blowhard—not
too much, but just a little. And my father
discovered I had so much knowledge, so one
time we were goin’ somewhere—Rod and my
father and I, just the three of us in the car. And
so my father started this game; he said, “Hey,
I know. Bill, you know cars pretty good, and
Rod, you know em real good. Let’s play a little
game here and see who can name the most”
[laughing]. And of course, I won it hands
down, and my uncle, he was a good guy, really.
He was amazed, and also he was a good loser.
And of course, my father was just tickled to
death that I beat ’im ’cause we really got into
some—you know, the Fords and Chevies and
all were easy, but then we got into some kinda
rare ones. I knew all of’em, just about.

So anyway, that’s how it started, and then
I couldn’t wait to—. I would love cars; I was
around cars, and I drove my first car when I
was—well, my father taught me to drive when
I was eight, I think, which was nice of him.
We went to Big Bear Lake a lot, and there was
nobody up there, so we could do anything.
And then he left the Hudson—did you hear
the Hudson story (see Chapter 1)?

So I drove that around, and I was only
eight then. I drove it all around Big Bear. And
so I drove, and my father was wonderful at
lettin me drive—just wherever it made sense,
where it didn’t hurt anything. And so I drove
a car quite a bit.

Then when I was—the law in California
then was fourteen years old to get a driver’s
license. And of course, I wanted one so bad
I could almost die. And so I was twelve, I
think, and I asked my father if I could have a

driver’s license. And much to my surprise, he
said, “Sure!” And of course, he had to falsify
on the application; but being a lawyer, why, he
knew exactly how to do it. And he didn’t swear
to it; he just signed it somehow, so it left him
free ‘n’ clear. I was a little concerned—I was
very proud of my driver’s license, but I was a
little concerned that I might get in trouble.
And someone found out about it from one
of the family, and they said, “Gee, aren’t you
worried?”

And he said, “No, no, no,” and then he had
this example that I was also—in law school
one time, of a similar situation, that a young
girl was—she was underage, and I don’t know
whether she had a driver’s license or not, but
was driving a car, and there was an accident.
Someone was injured, and the prosecution
claimed that because she was underage,
why, was the whole problem. Her defense
attorney—and the judge went along— was
her age had absolutely nothing to do with the
accident; the question was, was she drivin’ the
car properly or not? And it was shown that
she was driving properly, so they exonerated
her in any liabilities. And that was made clear
to me. So anyway, I was the only kid around
with a driver’s license. I sure took advantage
of it.

But the interest in the antiques, in collecting
them, actually, is it a financial ability to be able
to collect these things, or is it something that
you just had to do?

Well, it’s a combination. I was always
interested in the cars. Of course, as I got
older and the Model T Fords, they became
antiques. When I was a little kid, they were
the new thing you bought and drove. But
they were cars, and I liked them, course.
And I really didn’t know there was an antique
car society, or that there were collectors of

The Collector of Antique Cars

227

antique cars cause where I lived, that just
was nonexistent. And then as I got older
and I was in my twenties and maybe early
thirties, I didn’t know it. I remember seem’
a picture in The LA Times of a friend of
mine, Dick Teague, who’s a car collector, and
I’ve known him forever. He’s now the stylist
for American Motors—a real good friend.
But there was a picture of him and a 1906
Cadillac in the LA Times, and I thought,
“Gee, look at that old Cadillac! i didn’t know
there was anything that old existed.” And I
thought, “Gee, it’d be fun to have something
like that.” And I didn’t pay any attention.
I mean, an old car to me was a big rarity;
whenever I saw one, I couldn’t believe it.
And hardly ever saw one; it was just almost
like Fate lettin’ me not to see ’em yet ’cause I
just didn’t see any antique cars. I would’a bet
there weren’t fifty in the country, and what
were, were just in museums.

Then this friend of mine, this Freddie
Vogel, had a brother Johnny Vogel, who
had acquired a 1911 Ford and a 1911
Maxwell. And when I used to visit Freddie
in Hollywood (and Freddie had a garage
down there—service station), then I used to
hang around in this. I think the Ford and the
Maxwell were there, and they were tinkering
with them, and I was very interested. And
Johnny was kind of a—(what’s the word?)
kind of scatterbrained, kind of go-go-go
kind of a guy. And Freddie, who was the
younger brother, was quite conservative.
Johnny was the go-guy, and Freddie was
more stable, although Johnny was a good guy.
And Johnny loved cars, but he was kind of
carefree, careless; and I preached to him, as I
was older—I preached to both boys. I was a
good friend about driving and car safety and
good tires and don’t ride in convertibles and
all, because you might roll over, you know, at
high speed.

So anyway, Johnny, who was a real good
friend, and he had become a good friend, he
came up here a lot, and he was havin’ troubles
with the Army, and he was single and they
were drafting, and he was workin’ around
tryin to get out of it, but he really couldn’t.
And anyway, he was down in L.A., and he
was cornin’ to Reno, and he just took off the
spur of the moment, which is the way he did
things. He had a big dog. And in a Lincoln
Continental convertible, he was driving up
395 at ninety miles an hour, whatever, and
he blew a rear tire. He was in the used car
business. I think it was one of the cars on his
lot or something, but he hadn’t checked the
tires, and it was a faulty tire—it was a worn-
out tire. And he blew it, anyway, it rolled the
car. And of course, a convertible—you can
get killed real easy. I don’t know if it threw
him out and it landed on him or what, but it
killed him and the dog both, which was a big
tragedy ’cause he was still in his twenties and
had everything to live for. I can still remember
his funeral; it was such a sad thing. And of
course, I was there, but all of his friends—I
was maybe the oldest young person there. I
mean his mother was there, of course, but I
was five years older, maybe more. And still all
these twenty-year-old kids, and here Johnny’s
dead. Boy, it was real sad.

Anyway, that left the Ford and the
Maxwell, and Freddie Vogel had no interest
in them. And I did. And they were old cars,
and I thought, “Gee, they’d be nice.” And it
was kinda funny. By then I knew a little about
the cars, and it was kinda real funny. It was
Mrs. Vogel, who was just one of the sweetest
ladies in the whole world and a very generous
lady. [Consults book] But anyway, on this
Maxwell—yeah, two thousand dollars. It was
worth about a thousand, so I thought— you
know—and I didn’t want to—I loved her. She’d
done so many nice things for me. And so I

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William F. Harrah

wanted to buy the Maxwell, and it was worth
around a thousand. After the funeral and all
and things had settled down a little, either she
called me or somehow and we’re talking, and
she said, “Bill, Johnny wanted you to have the
Maxwell and Ford, if you wanted them.”

And I said, “Well, that’s fine, Mrs. Vogel,
but I don’t want ’em as a gift; I would like to
buy them.”

And she said, “Well, that’s what I really
meant. You can buy them.”

And I said, “Well, that’s fine. How much?”

And she said, “Well, Johnny has let me
see—” and she dug out a letter. She said
Johnny was always valuing everything real
high. So he had the Maxwell down at two
thousand dollars, and I was kinda proud of
myself’cause it wasn’t the time to bargain. She
said, “Is that all right?”

And I said, “Oh, that’s fine.” And I paid
two thousand. Let me see how much the Ford
was, ’cause it wasn’t worth as much. Fifteen
hundred for the Ford.

That was for the first two, and I got them.
Maxwell was the more interesting car ’cause
there was fewer Maxwells, a lot of Model Ts.
So we restored the Maxwell. By we, I had a
mechanic that worked on my cars and worked
on other things for me and—pretty good
mechanic. And we made a terrible mistake in
doing it, as an antique car should be restored
authentically as the way it was. A 1911
Maxwell should be restored the way a 1911
Maxwell was. But I didn’t recognize that at the
time, and not knowing anybody, I was all on
my own. And as I hopped up about every car
I owned, I hopped up the Maxwell or—Jimmy
Guller was the mechanic, and I—and we really
hopped it up, so it would go. And then the
exterior, we restored it, but we did it wrong
because we had no original— which got me
into libraries. If I’d had the original catalog,
I would have restored it the way it should

look; but I just restored it the way I got it, and
it had many mistakes in it. So that’s the way
it was. And in fact, in the museum now, we
have this Maxwell as it was, which has many
things wrong with it. And then right beside
it we have one that’s correct and then a little
sign explaining that the first car we didn’t
know any better, and we restored it wrong;
and then this is what it should’ve looked like.

I went on my first tour (I think that
was ’47), and I showed up in L.A. with my
Maxwell. I didn’t know anybody. Well, I found
an application to the Horseless Carriage Club
in the papers that I got with the Maxwell. So I
joined the Horseless Carriage Club, and then
I was real excited. They had this magazine,
and there were other collectors—oh, that was
wonderful—and then they had a tour coming
up, so I sent in my application to the tour. It
was, I remember, from Los Angeles to San
Diego. So I sent in my tour, and I showed up
with a Maxwell, and, didn’t know anybody. It
was almost like the first day of school; I was
kinda scared. Fortunately, first person I met
was—I put my car in a garage in downtown
L.A., and an old-timer came in with an old
car. Doc [George] Shafer was his name, who
I knew for many years. He had quite a few
cars, and he was a real old-timer in the club.
Fact, when he died, I got most of his cars. But
old Doc was the kind of blowhard type. He
misdated everything on purpose. But he came
in. I got quite an education just listening to
him for a couple of hours. That was the night
before the tour.

Then the day of the tour I showed up,
and there were a lot of other cars, I was real
excited, and got started out. In fact, I was so
excited I didn’t really drive the Maxwell the
way I should have. And then I finally figured
out what I was doing wrong, and then I got
along fine. Mine was a very little car, and there
were some big cars, so they all got way ahead.

The Collector of Antique Cars

229

I remember (huh!) [chuckles] the lunch stop
was in Long Beach, and I got there just as they
were all leaving [laughing], but I didn’t let it
bother me too much. We had a little trouble,
but this mechanic I had was pretty good—
Jimmy We worked on it and fixed it.

But anyway, I think our second stop was at
Oceanside, and that’s where I met Bud Catlett.
He was a real old-timer in the club. He was a
policeman in Sacramento. He loved old cars.
Ill never forget, he came up to me, and he
was so polite, and, “Mr. Harrah, I’m Bud
Catlett. How do you do?” And he looked at the
Maxwell, and instead of sayin’, “This is wrong,
and the radiator’s wrong, and the upholstery’s
wrong, and the fenders are wrong,” and not
even talkin’ about the hop-up part, he said,
“Gee, that’s a nice car,” which it was. It was
real shiny. And then he asked me about the
radiator. He said, “Is this the right radiator?”

And I said, “Well, gee, I don’t know.”

And he said, “Well, I thought”—he didn’t
say—which was a fact, because it had a early—
it was—. The early Maxwells used this type
of radiator, so because of the radiator, I had
dated it as a 1907, and it was really a 1911. So
he said, “This 1907,” he said, “how did you—”
only he’s real polite. He said, “Is this a 1907?”
which was about a million things to prove it
isn’t. He said, “Why did you think—?”

I said, “Well, the radiator.”

And he said, “Well, yes, that is. That’s an
early radiator.” But he said, “I think—” and
he didn’t always— he wasn’t positive. He
said, “I think the early ones had semi-elliptic
springs, and yours has full elliptic.” And he
said, “I think the early ones have—” so on, so
on, so on, so on. And he pointed out all these
things, and I was a little defensive. I didn’t like
anybody telling me my 1907 car was a 1911
car ’cause older was better (at least I thought
it was). So I was a little defensive, but Bud was
so nice.

Then, as the tour went along and I had
trouble and Bud helped out, and we got to
be pretty good friends, just on the tour. So
then when I got home and I really researched
the car, and I found that he was absolutely
right and I was as wrong as could be. And in
the meantime, we were corresponding and
talking and visiting back and forth, and I’ve
never forgotten how polite he was ’cause he
could’ve come up and said, “Dummy, this
is—” da da da da. But he was so nice.

So we became real close friends, and we
used to laugh about it because me and my
wife and he and his wife visited back and
forth, and they’d come up here and we’d go
visit them, and we’d go on trips together, and
we just became very close friends. And here
he was a policeman in Sacramento, and I was
a casino operator in Reno; you just couldn’t
imagine two people that would have less in
common, but the cards just bounced together.
And we’re still friends.

He worked for me for many years when he
retired from the police force, and he was up
here as my car buyer for ten or twelve years,
maybe longer. And then he retired from that
(he had some money), but still, we keep him
on a retainer as an expert; on special jobs, we
want somebody to go look at somethin’—he
loves to travel—so he’ll go look at somethin’ for
us. And then the fact we’re going on a tour in
Australia in April, I’m taking a car, and some
friends of mine from Cleveland are taking a
car, and Bud Catlett is going to borrow a car
down there. He and another fella and their
wives are gonna borrow a car in Australia. So
they were goin over and they were talkin’, so
we’re taking our own plane over, and I invited
Bud and his friend to ride with us, which
they’re going to do. And then we’ll be on the
tour together, of course. Just fun.

I bet he loved that job.

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William F. Harrah

Yeah, he did, and he’s real good at it. And
he’s bought cars—I’ve bought a lot of cars you
couldn’t buy just by my approach, but Bud—I
learned a lot of that from Bud. Bud has bought
cars, many, many cars, that just, no way you
could buy. People have tried and tried. And
Bud is nice, and he has a big grin; he’s a real
sincere person, and he just goes in with lots
of time.

And one of my favorites was, I think he got
three cars— either New York or New Jersey; it
was New York area, and the man that owned
’em was a policeman on the, I think, New
York police force. I think he was a detective.
We’d heard of the cars he had for years, but he
wouldn’t—anybody get around there, he’d just
say, “Get out of here,” you know. New Jersey.
Paddy Boyle was his—. He had these cars,
and so I’d heard—there’s Pope-Hartfords—
we have quite a few of them. And they’re
all four-cylinder, but they made a very few
six-cylinder Popes. And so we’d heard of this
one, this one in L.A. which was untouchable,
and we’d heard of this one that Paddy Boyle
had. That’s the reason that we wanted to get
it, which everybody said, “He won’t even talk
to you, let alone—.”

So Bud went and looked up his place and
went there and rang the bell, and rang it and
rang it. Finally Paddy cane to the door and
said something like—and Bud said, “Paddy
Boyle,” and before he could even say, “I’m
Bud Catlett,” or anything, the guy says, “Get
the hell—what do you want?”

He said, “Well, I wanted your old car—.”

He said, “Get the hell out of here!” or
words to that effect. And he’d opened the door
about a crack, and Bud didn’t put his foot in it,
but he’s tryin to talk through the crack. Real
negative. So the door was just about closed,
so Bud at a last ditch effort said, “I understand
you’re a retired policeman.”

And Paddy said, “Well—so what?”

And Bud said, “I’m a retired policeman!”

And the door opened just a little—
’’Where?”

“Sacramento.” And Bud had the, you
know, credentials. “I was a so-and-so, so-and-
so, twenty-three years,” da da da.

And Paddy said, “Oh, were you? Really?
Ah! Well, come in a minute.” And of course,
Bud knew all the things to say, then; he got a
look at it. And it wasn’t for sale, but Bud just
kept workin, and then we got it. Within a year
we got it.

But then Paddy liked Bud very much, and
he had many other cars. And we got other cars
just like open the trickle and then the dam,
you know, and here they came, just—. And
they weren’t cheap, but they weren’t high; they
were just market, which was fine because they
were all rare stuff.

That’s interesting that a retired policeman
should be one of these important collectors.
Nowadays you wouldn’t find that kind of
person collecting them, would you?

Well, no, because then—see, Bud was
in it long before I was. And he tells many
stories, you know, like the car that he turned
down, they wanted fifty dollars and he offered
twenty-five. Now the car’s worth five thousand
dollars. And of course, I tell jokes on him. He
had a Mercer that I bought from him, a 1917
Mercer, and it—Sporting is the model. But
then Mercers are always desirable; they’re a
wonderful car. But this was rare because it had
very few miles, like three or four thousand
miles. It was like a brand-new car. So Bud and
I—and he’d come up here, and I’d—he didn’t
drink very well, and I drank pretty good, so I
tried to get him drunk. He watched it pretty
careful, but we had some good times. But I
remember on the Mercer—and I kept him out
real late. And so he wanted—oh, let me look

The Collector of Antique Cars

231

that up. Let me get that right. Well, I think he
asked seven-fifty.

And I said, “Ehhh, that’s too much.” And
I said, “I’ll give you five hundred.”

And Bud said, “Oh, poohy!” And then he
said, “Well, how ’bout six-fifty?”

And I said, “No, no, no, no, no!” And I
always liked to gamble, flip a coin, ’cause we
were kind of at (a] dead end there. So I said,
“Okay, I’ll match you six-fifty or five hundred.”
So Bud won. So I paid him six-fifty. So the car
today is worth eight, ten thousand, maybe
twelve, fifteen, possibly. And I still—when it’s
fun, like when we’re at a party or somethin’,
we’ll talk old times, and I’ll say, “Remember,
Bud [laughing], when you beat me out of—
made me pay six-fifty?” [Laughing]

There was another one, a Pope-Hartford;
he had a PopeHartford, and that was the first
one—I just loved PopeHartfords from the
time I was a little kid. And there were some
in the [Horseless Carriage] Club, and when I
got—and I thought, “Gee, I’ll never own one
of those.” And Bud had one, and I just—oooh,
I wanted that so bad! So got him up on the
same story, and we’re out and drinkin’ and all,
and I kept him up all night. Finally I bought
the Pope-Hartford for fifteen hundred dollars.
I think he thought at the time— you know,
I think the way I got it was I just offered so
much money, he couldn’t turn it down. Of
course, that car today is—well, I still have it, of
course, and it’s worth, oh, auction, that would
bring twenty-five thousand dollars today. But
he’s not the kind of guy that looks back at all.
You know, he’s—and he always has cars.

When he retired he moved to Minden,
and I didn’t understand it for some time
’cause it’s so tar and his interests are here. But
he bought a little piece of land down there
and built—he’s fail real handy guy; he can
do anything. He built this house by himself,
and it’s a cute little house, and his wife of all

these years—they had one child who’s grown
and long gone—and they just get along
super. In fact, he’s always been into cars, and
motorcycles, of course, being [a] motorcycle
cop. And he used to ride one, and I didn’t
know them then, but he and Bernice for
one vacation, they rode their motorcycle to
Miami, Florida and back, if you can imagine,
and just got along fine! [Laughs] To each his
own.

It was so funny, one time—we used to
travel a lot, too. We’d go lookin’ at cars here
and there. And I was always a fast driver, but
I’d get tickets. And Bud drove just as fast as I
did or faster (and we always took my car ’cause
I always had a real, good car), and he’d drive
ninety (and California was sixty miles an hour
then, I think) and he’d never get stopped. And
I just couldn’t understand it. I thought he had
a secret thing. For years, I thought he was—
some way he held, his head or something. But
he was just lucky, ’cause finally one time we
were on a tour [of] United States or a lot of
western United States (this was in ’53,1 think,
in a Chrysler of mine).

We visited all the Horseless Carriage
Clubs; they’re called regional groups, and
they’re individual. We had a president in the
national Horseless Carriage Club that’d been
in there for nine years or somethin’. And he
had a board of directors; unfortunately, he got
me on the board, and I discovered what was
goin on. But he had some figureheads on the
board—I think there were nine of ’em—and
they just reelected him, and a lot of’em weren’t
even car people; they were just friends. And he
was one of those fellas that like to run things,
so he was the perpetual president.

Well, when I got into it, I could see what a
mess it was. So I talked to Bud on it, and he’d
seen it for years, and then another fella who
lives here in Reno, Harry Johnson, a Horseless
Carriage fella who then lived in Long Beach,

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William F. Harrah

the three of us got to talkin’ and more of us in
the Horseless— and we got to get rid of this
guy, and how we gonna do it? And there’s a
board of directors election every year, and
there were staggered terms, I think.

But anyway, I wrote letters to all the
members, and then Bud and I and Harry
Johnson visited all these regional groups and
made speeches against Bothwell—Lindley
Bothwell was his name. And fact, some places
where Bothwell was very popular we’d go in
and we’d be insulted—almost run us out of
the place. “Get outa here, you bums!” course,
because I was in the gambling business, they’d
use that a little bit. We kept at it, and then
they had the election and we beat him hands
down. We just put in all of our people and
turned the club around. And since then, it’s
been good. People’ll be in for a president one
year, two years; then they have another one,
another, another, so it was a good thing. But
anyway, we went all over the country. What
direction now?

How did you decide to go public with the
Collection and to open it up, to make a museum
of it?

Oh, I see, yeah. Well, that was—you have
the two cars, then the tour cars, and all I can
tell you the cars as they came, but—real fast.
And as my money came in, I was makin’
money, so I could afford to buy a car here
and there. And I bought a Duesenberg, and I
bought this and that. I lived on South Virginia
then, and I remember I had a backyard there
and I think I had at one time eight or ten
cars out there. And they worried me. Then
I moved, and I had to move them. So then I
started renting vacant buildings around. And
pretty soon there were twenty and then fifty,
and—”Oh, there’s a car I want,” and I had the
money; I’d buy it. And what are you gonna

do with them? And, you know, eventually
you take a look, and well, what can I—you
know—what are you gonna do with a hundred
cars? But you can get there real fast when you
have the money and the interest. So I thought,
“Well, gee, I should have a museum; I should
have ’em in a building.” So I had some of ’em
in a building, and then as I met other people—
you know, by then I knew a lot of collectors.
And they’d come to Reno—”Oh, I want to see
your cars—.”

“Oh, tine.” So then I’d take ’em, and I’d
have a whole bunch of keys in my pocket and
we’d go here, and here’s eight; and then we’d
drive over here, and here’d be twelve; and then
we go over here, and here’s four more—and
drive all over Reno to do that. And then I
thought, “Gee, they should all be in one place.”
So by then we had some on Lake Street over
here—maybe thirty or so—and that wasn’t
room. So then I thought, gee, I had maybe a
hundred by then. And then the place in Sparks
was vacant.

Oh, I had ’em up on the hill up here for
a while—that old building up there. What’s
that—you go up beyond the college? It was
built as a storage building. It’s real— it’s a two-
story thing, and we since sold it. But that was
there, and I forget the name of the street up
there. But you go right by the University, right
at the top of the hill, and turn right and go a
block, and turn left. And it was made out of old
railroad ties—very well-built building. And it
became available. I rented it for a while, and
then I bought it. But it had two floors. So then
I started puttin’ the cars in there. And by then,
we did want to show them, so then we looked
around and found the old ice warehouse in
Sparks; nobody was usin’ it for anything. And
that fit our thing pretty good, and Dermody
had it, and the rent was quite reasonable.

So we moved in out there, and we kept
the building on the hill for our junkers and

The Collector of Antique Cars

233

our parts, and just disposed of it a few years
ago. And moved out to Sparks, and that
was— I remember we signed a year lease
’cause that’s all the time I was qoin’ to stay
there. I think we’ve been there fifteen years
or so. But Dermody’s a good guy. We always
just— another year, and he doesn’t raise the
rent any, although he gets paid pretty good.
But then he’s built more buildings for us, and
more buildings and more buildings and more
buildings, on and on and on and on and on.

Would you like to trace the evolution of that
into having a whole crew and a library for
research and a really distinguished kind of
collection?

Well, the library goes hand in hand with
it. As you want to restore a car—and most
of ’em, I’d say ninety-five percent of the cars
you get have been altered in one way or the
other, and I’ve altered many myself, so I can’t
criticize. But you want to restore it to the
way it was when it was new. And I collected
literature just because I liked the literature;
it’s fun to read about ’em. So whenever I
could buy an old catalog, I bought it, even
before I think I had the Maxwell. And then
when we got into it in the cars and literature
became available, I bought it, and I bought
it real heavy whenever—’cause I knew there
was only so much of an original literature. So
fortunately, I really went out on it. So now I
would say we have possibly the second best
automotive library in the world that I know of.
There may be others, but I mean overall—of
course, primarily American. But there is one,
the Detroit, which quite properly, that’s a good
one. Unfortunately, they haven’t done much
with theirs. They just accumulated the stuff
over the years, and it’s just piled up, where
over the years, because of our use and interests
and being able to afford it, we’ve cataloged it

and just kept goin’ and goin’ and. Goin’ and
goin’, and we’re always updating and updating.
It we have the material on a car, like we can
do it on the phone—I’ll discover a car that I
never heard of, and I can call the library on
the phone and get the right guy and say, “Give
me what you have on a so-and-so, so-and-so.”

And within a minute, he’ll be—’’Well, it’s
a such-and-such and the bore and stroke and
the wheel base—” and da da da da da da da.

So our library—for years before we got
into it—in fact, I had one lady out there
cataloging for about ten years. She finally died.
She did it all by hand, but she did a super job.
She was one of those people that worked fast,
and you didn’t have to watch her; she’d give
you your full eight hours. And she did it, and.
I don’t think I ever found a mistake that she’d
made in all that—. And her work is still there;
you can find her handwriting and all. It was so
wonderful then to—’cause for years, you think
[clicks fingers], “Gee, I remember I’ve read
that,” and you get this and you go through it.
And that one you’d go through it, and “Where
did I see that article on the 1914 American
Underslung?” You know, I’d look and look and
spend hours, which, of course, you know as
much about that as I do. But now we’re in such
wonderful shape, and we’re getting even more
sophisticated all the time. I don’t go up there
much any more cause I just say, “Hey, I want
somethin’ on a so-and-so,” and I get it right
away. But then occasionally I do go up, and
I’m amazed at how things have been changin’
around. They’re just realty movin’. And they’re
talkin’ about goin into microfilming all that
now.

Well, they’re talkin’ about microfilming
the catalogs. And I said, “Well, how does that
make sense? You got the original catalog—
what can be better than that?” And the big
thing is the speed. They say with a microfilm,
you want this, you look it up, and here it is—

234

William F. Harrah

the 1908 so-and-so on page 73. But by doing
this [gesture] with the microfilm, there it is
right in front of you without gettin the catalog
and all this. It’s just, you know—just like that,
so—I don’t know, maybe it’s good. I’d love to
have the original catalog.

Oh, that library and the restoration—that
was just trial and error thing. We started,
we had one mechanic, and then we got an
upholsterer, and we got a painter, and we got
another mechanic and a body man and a—
and there’s so many—you need machinists
and so on. And they just grew—it was no plan
on Lt—by trial and error.

Then we’ve been limited on our budget.
We can only spend so much money there.
But we’ve never had as many as we’d like to
have. But it’s been, I’d say, fair. I would have
liked to have maybe double what we’ve had in
mechanics and in painters and woodworkers,
but you can only do so much. But it’s selective,
and we find many of’em—I’d say today maybe
we have, oh, maybe seventy people actually
work on the car— I think there’s a crew of a
hundred and fifty out there, but there’s janitors
and there’s guides and librarians and so on,
and secretaries and guards.

So say, maybe seventy-five actually work
on the cars. But of the seventy-five, I’d say, one
time sixty-five of ’em were antique car buffs,
and today, I’d say maybe thirty or forty are—
maybe don’t have any but like the old cars and
would rather work on a 1911 Pope-Hartford
than the 1977 Cadillac. Just they like that car,
they like that kind of work. Also the beauty
of that kind of work is, like as a mechanic, we
put one man on a car—or he may have two
cars—and he’ll be the chief mechanic. And
he will tear the car down, and when he needs
any help to lift, why, there’ll be somebody to
help him. But then the way we’re set up makes
it so nice against a person doin’ it all himself,
because like he’ll get down to the frame and

he wants it sandblasted, which is, you know,
an old rusty frame, so you just send it out
there, and we have a man does sandblasting.
And so that comes back, and then maybe it
needs a little welding; well, he may do that
welding. And then the engine work—he’ll
probably do the engine, but when it gets to
machining a part, why, we have machinists
there. And when it gets to the assembly, he
will assemble; painting, we have a painting
department. And the wheels are probably
broken or—usually the wooden wheels are
bad, and we have a wood department; they
make wheels. We can even make bodies if
necessary. And then upholstery, we do that.
So he just will be the head fella; but he’ll get it
up to here, then it goes to the upholstery, then
it goes to painting and all. And then he road
tests it and so on, and eventually, then I drive
it, and if it’s okay, why, in it goes to museum,
and he’ll start on another one. Usually he’ll
have two so that, you get held up even with
an arrangement like that, you’re waiting for
the so-and-so, so then he can be working on
this car here, so he isn’t at a loss what to do.
So that works pretty good. And then it’s happy
day when the car’s driven and accepted, and
he goes on to somethin’ else and does it all
over again.

You get to have a lot of fun with them, too.

Yeah. And then I get to pick which ones
we’re gonna restore. And I change my mind
all the time, ’cause I like that one, then there’s
this one we just got. My previous manager,
a Ray Jesch, who is going to Australia with
Bud Catlett—. We’re good friends. But he was
the manager one time, and so I was walkin’
through one of their shops, and I saw this car;
and it’d been sittin’ there for, oh, six or eight
years. And “Ray!” I said, “That car has been—”
(I could remember the date—maybe five—).

The Collector of Antique Cars

235

I said, “That’s been sittin there for five years!
When the hell are we gonna get it finished?”

And he said, “Well, when I took this job,”
he said, “that car was third in line.” (And I
thought, well, we’ve done ten cars since then.)

I said, “Well, why—?”

He said, “You’ve put twenty-five cars in
front of it.”

And I said, “What do you mean?” And
he was ready for me and either had it in his
pocket, or he went to his office and got it and
had the very latest restoration list, which I
had prepared (or had been prepared under
my direction). And here was maybe twenty-
seven cars, and this one I’m yellin’ about was
Number Twenty-Seven, which is where I’d
put it because of these other twenty-five. I
didn’t put the twenty-five, though, but a new
car would come in or a new old car, and I’d
say, “Oh God, let’s do that one, Ray!”

And he said, “Well, where do you want
it

I said, “Put it in front of everything!” So,
I had to laugh; I really did! I said, “Oh boy,
oh boy!” [Laughs] But he was ready; I guess
over the years it’d be, “What the hell, it that’s
the way he wants to do it, let him do it,” So—.

Anyway, as we’re getting ready now for
our move to 1-80, our new—. Worked on
the plans, and it looks like within about two
years we’ll be in business out there. So now
we’re really hoppin up out here [HAC]. Like
yesterday, I spent the whole day going through
the warehouses with our present-day buyer
and picking cars that we want to restore. So
many of ’em are unrestored, and we can do a
class one restoration, which takes a year; you
tear ’em completely apart. Then other cars that
you’re not really gonna drive anyway, we can
do what we call a “cosmetic.” You can do that
in a couple of months. And that is paint and
upholstery—straighten the metal, paint it and
upholster it and put new tires on it and new

plating; so it looked like a fully restored car.
And it’ll run, but not very good, but then we
won’t drive it anyway. But in the museum it’ll
be fine, and then that, say, we can do four to
one. So we can do an awful lot of those now.

But we were going through and lookin’ to
see which ones actually—and some you can
display; like there’s a Rainier out there that
we got from—it’s the same as the beer—it’s
the make [of] the car, and it’s a limousine or a
town car, and it’s a 1907 convertible limousine.
That’s one of the Rockefeller cars we got a
year or so ago. But it’s totally original. It’s a
1907 car, and it’s never been restored, and it’s
beautiful the way it is. The paint is old and
faded and the brass is tarnished, but it’s just a
beautiful thing.

And that car we’ll never touch. The tires
are totally shot, so we’ll get a set of tires to put
on it and just put in the museum; that’s the
way it is. And you know, it’s more beautiful
than a restored one ’cause it just has aged
gracefully.

We have quite a few of those, fortunately.
They add a lot. Then when a car is pretty
bad, why, then we restore it and it looks like
a brand-new whatever it is. That’s really fun;
I enjoy doin’ that. And every car, when it’s
complete, I really feel like I’d done something,
although I really didn’t. I mean, you know,
if wasn’t for me, it wouldn’t’ve been done,
but still they did it. I just feel so good when
it’s done and I drive it. And they have to do
the advertised speed, which is difficult to
find out, but you can, pretty well, And like
a Chrysler—Chrysler was great on speed.
Their Chrysler 70 was supposed to go seventy,
and their Chrysler 60 went sixty, and their
Chrysler 80 went eighty. And they had a 72,
and 72 and a 62, and so on. And they were
pretty accurate—Chrysler was pretty good on
it. So we take ’em out, and then we allow for
the altitude against sea level, and they’ll do it.

236

William F. Harrah

Surprising. Of course, with the speed limits
we have today, a lot of those old cars are right
up there.

Where do you drive them when you go for your
test drive; where do you go?

Oh, it’s real easy. The place in Sparks,
where we’re right off of the freeway there,
you know, so we just zip right onto that and
go east as far as we want to go and turn— I
usually go to the first overpass (you know
where that is) ’cause by then I can get up to
top speed and get all the feel of the thing and
then zip around. Also it’s nice if you’re going
over the speed limit, which many of em’ll
do, you can get up there, but you’re back
down and off and over by the time anybody
gets to look at you. [Laughs] course most
policemen are pretty good; you know people
knock ’em and all, and I hate ’em with their
radar—I really do, I hate ’em. But still they’re
pretty good guys, and if you have an old car,
it’s a different thing. Then they’re a friend,
you know. If you’re in a Ferrari, they’re an
enemy. But if you’re in a Pope-Hartford, why,
they’re way—and they’ll help you along and
stop other traffic and, “Come on,” you know;
they’re a buddy then. They’re human. They
have a lousy job.

So they really are road tested in every sense of
the word.

Oh yeah, yeah, they have to, uh-huh. You
have to get down to the nitty gritty, ’cause
so many—like today, you know, they would
advertise, oh, the ninety-mile-an-hour so-
and-so, and no way would it go ninety miles
an hour. And they would just, you know, talk,
so we’d have to sit through that. Usually you
can tell by the specifications of what other
cars’ll do—just about what it’ll do.

I know my father had a secretary one
time, a male secretary that was super. I can’t
remember his name; I’ll think of it. But he was
like my Bob Hudgens; he just did everything
and did it real good. So we got to be friends
’cause many times my father’d be somewhere
and I’d be with his man doing something. You
know, I was a teenager.

So I remember he told me a story one time
about a Whippet; it was an Overland Whippet.
That was a cute little car; we have several in the
museum. And they were advertised at (this is
in ’27, ’28)—the Whippet would go fifty-five
miles an hour, which is pretty fast for that car.
And he was a dealer at the time he told me
this story, and they wouldn’t go fifty-five. So
they’d do about fifty or forty-eight, which was
pretty good considering the design of the car.
But he said he’d sell these cars, and people, oh,
they’re so happy, and they go out and they
come back the next day or the same day and
say, “This damn thing won’t go fifty-five; it’ll
only go—.

So being an honest person (which he
really was), he’d work it over and he’d tune
this and tune that, and it still wouldn’t go
fifty-five. And then he’d take the head off and
grind the valves and just really spend a lot of
time and money tryin’ to make that damn
thing go fifty-five. You know, after all this trial
and error, maybe he’d sold eight or ten (I don’t
know how many), and they’re cornin’ back at
him, and it’s in this little town, and he’s not the
good guy any more; he’s the guy that’s sellin
these bum cars that won’t do—. So, “My Cod,
what am I gonna do?” And all of a sudden in
the middle of the night—like ideas will come
to you and [slaps forehead], “Oh!”

So he went down the next day, and in
those days the speedometer was operated
by a little spring inside that would turn and
the lever would go up, but the stiffness of the
spring had a lot to do with how fast it would

The Collector of Antique Cars

237

go up. Cornin’ from the factory, they were
pretty accurate. So all he did on these when
they’d come in, he’d say, “Okay, I’ll fix your
car. Come back tomorrow.” So when the guy
was gone and nobody was lookin’, he’d take
the speedometer and just bend the spring a
little bit so the [laughing] speedometer would
read sixty. So then the man’d come back and
get his car and take it out—”Oh wow, it’ll go
sixty!” [Laughing]

He said, “All those hours I spent tryin’ to
fix ’em, and all I had to do is bend the spring!”
Huh! Which is, you know, advertising, or
human nature, or merchandizing or whatever
you want to call it; it’s what’s in the customer’s
mind that’s what matters.

The Pony Express Museum

So then I was into this old car collecting,
and my wife of the time, Scherry, was into
old clothes, antique clothes, I should say
[chuckles]. So we were in Hollywood or L.A.
for some reason. I remember she had a new
Cadillac I’d bought her that I was real proud of,
and we’d driven that down; and we were there
for the Rose Bowl game or something like that.
And she saw a picture in the paper of Parker
Lyon with an old costume, and, the picture
said, “Parker Lyon—Noted Movie Man,” so on.
Says, had donated “this hat” or “this costume”
to some benefit. And they were gonna have
a benefit—the lady so-and-so was havin’ a
benefit, and this was one of the things that
would be auctioned off. So Scherry wanted
to go to that ’cause she was really collecting
costumes real strong at the time. She went
into it very strong, did a good job— you know,
the period of the car—1910,1905, that sort of
thing. And she got a lot of’em. But anyway, she
saw this, and she wanted to go.

So I was busy somehow with somethin’—I
don’t know what I—oh, I guess that’s when I

was on the board of directors of the Horseless
Carriage Club. We would go down once a
month— that was it—to a meeting. So I was
down there for the meeting, and the sale
was the next day. It was the same time as the
meeting, and it was in Pasadena, I believe. So
she didn’t know her way around, so I think
she took a cab to Pasadena while I went to the
meeting.

The sale didn’t amount to anything. But
Parker was there, and he’s a good friend today.
But he was quite a lady’s man or fancied
himself to be a lady’s man. At that time he
was over the hill, but— [laughs]. But anyway—
and Scherry was really a striking-lookin’
gal. So she walked in and wanted to see this
whatever-it-was, and he really thought she
was all right. So he was super nice to her. So
he told her that this was just one of the things
out of his museum in Arcadia, and she should
see that—he’d like to show it to her and all.
She was no dummy, but I guess she got the
hat or whatever it was and came back. [She
was] quite excited; she said, “Well, he has this
museum out there just full of stuff,” called the
Pony Express Museum. And he’d invited her
out to see it, da da da.

And so I said, “Well, let’s—we can do that.”
So we went out and looked at the museum,
and there weren’t too many clothes in it, but
there was everything, just—. See, his father,
Parker Lyon, Sr., who founded Fresno, I think
it is, and also the Lyon [Van Lines] moving
company, had collected all this stuff in the
old, old days. And he just went to these little
mining towns in the ’30s and would go in,
and he’d buy the whole town for a hundred
dollars, and the price— well, I have all that
information—what he paid for things.

But anyway, here was this huge—and
they had no cars, but everything else, which
was really things I needed, but—. Parker, I
got acquainted with him, and we got to be

238

William F. Harrah

pretty good friends, talkin’ [Then] he, either
at the time or soon after—approached me
about buyin the thing—the whole thing—and
which was, as I said, no cars, but there was
everything else. And in the car collecting,
all we’d gotten was cars and motorcycles and
things; and many times we’d thought— and
people’d say, “Well, what are you gonna have?
A bunch of cars?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, aren’t you gonna have anything
else?”

Then I’d say, “Oh yeah, we’ll have other
things ’cause everybody isn’t a car nut. But
that’s down the road, and we’ll get some—.”

“Well, what are you gonna have?”

“Well, maybe Pony Express,” maybe this
and that.

So anyway, Lyon approached me, and he
wanted to sell. And I thought, “Oh brother!
If I could get this, then it would just—.” I
didn’t want to spend my time collecting placer
mining stuff and that sort of thing ’cause it
wasn’t—I wanted to collect cars. So here it
was all done for me.

So, “Oh, wow. Lets s talk about So I
think we got onto it. And Parker was a heavy
drinker, but he didn’t drink all the time,
’cause it just made it a little more difficult
to deal with him, but it was no big deal. But
anyway, he wanted to sell the museum. And
the meantime, before I got to talkin’ head-
and-head, I had it appraised; and I thought it
was pretty smart of me. Maybe it was sneaky,
but it was—I’m kinda proud of it. I had no
idea what it was worth, and I wanted to—you
know, how are you gonna talk if you don’t
know what it’s worth?

So I found a couple (forget how I found
’em) of antique collectors; I think they had a
little shop out in that area. And I forget how
I got into them—a man, wife, and forty-ish,
and they really knew their stuff. So we thought

up this idea; Parker was real (I know) real
[insistent]—do-you-want-to-buy-it-or-don’t-
you kind of a guy [gesture, rigid, excited]. Oh,
I didn’t want to talk till I had an idea, so I had
this couple go in and appraise it; and they
acted like antique nuts. They went and visited
every day and appraised the thing, which if
you can imagine—’cause they couldn’t have
their pencil and papers out to—. But they
actually appraised the whole thing by acting as
just enthusiasts. They went there every day for
a week and just—. They pretended they were
from New York or something, so they had to
see it while they were there and they only had
a week. We had a real good story cooked up.

Parker wasn’t around much, fortunately,
and then he had a manager there who I got
well acquainted with; in fact, he went to work
for me later. And the manager was a real nice
little guy. He was tryin real hard to make it
go, and it wasn’t goin too good. So here he
had this couple from New York that came
in every day and bought their tickets and
everything, and the best customers he’d ever
had, so—[laughs]. He’d tell ’em anything they
wanted to know, and he’d follow ’em around.
Then somehow they wrote it—gee!—did it,
but they did and they appraised the thing. I
have their appraisal today, and it was done,
and it was very accurate, ’cause I think it was
questioned and it was accurate.

So anyway, it came out, I think around
three hundred [thousand dollars] or
something. And I think Parker wanted—
then we got out; I knew where I was. And of
course, I didn’t want to pay three hundred; I
wanted to pay a hundred or something. And
Parker, I think, wanted five hundred or—so
we were way apart. So we got to talking. The
three hundred, let me get it straight, is really
the retail price of the thing; so wholesale, of
course, it should be less than three hundred.
So I think maybe wholesale it was maybe a

The Collector of Antique Cars

239

hundred and fifty thousand, and I was willing
to pay that.

But Parker and I got to talkin’. I don’t
know if he’d been dr inkin’ or not, but we
talked; and we were kinda friends. And four
hundred, three hundred, da da da da da. And
so finally—’’Make me an offer.

So I said, “Okay. A hundred and fifty
thousand.”

But then I think he had a couple of drinks
’cause he was a different guy. He got really
insulted. [Gruff voice] “Ha! That’s ridiculous,
that’s an insult! I’ll burn it before I’ll sell it for
that!” da da da da da. And he just— you know.
So what do you do?

Well, long before this I discovered—and
which is the key to the thing—that he’d been
wantin’ to sell it, sell it. So I said, “Why in the
hell does he want to—he’s had it for fifteen
years out there. And he isn’t doing any worse
now than he was.” It was right across from
the Santa Anita race track. So that was a
good location (of course, the horseplayers
couldn’t care lass, but—) Anyway, the story
was that it’s a wonderful motel location for
people—horse track followers— ’cause there
was none real close, and this is maybe twenty
or thirty acres, right there. So someone had
come along and offered Parker a big chunk of
money (or at least he thought it was) for this
land. So he’d sold it, and he’d been given a year
to get off. Well, he was not payin’ attention, so
by the time I got in the scene, he had about
three or four months to go. And October
first, he had to have that off of there; he was
liable for all sorts of things. So this is maybe
August and September, this is goin about, or
maybe July and August. So then when he got
highly insulted, why, I—you know—I said,
“Well, time’s gonna—he’s gonna have to.”
But then I got nervous. I thought, “Oh my
God, suppose,” you know, “suppose he finds
some—.” And I wanted it real bad by then;

oh boy, did I want it! Although not enough
to pay any more than a hundred and fifty.

So Parker had a wife (I think her name
was Gladys. She’s since died of cancer).
But she was, I’ll say about the classiest
lady I ever met, outside of my family and
my wife— just absolutely—. She was very
good looking, very—she was a Pasadena
socialite—as social as you can get. But she
was head-and-head; she could talk to you
just like—you know— never put you down.
She was a gracious and extremely—and she
was no kid. She was in her fifties or sixties,
but her figure was excellent, and her clothes
were perfect but not— why, just perfect,
and her hair was always so [gestures to
head], and her manner just—the nicest
ladies I ever knew. And I really liked her;
Scherry and I both just loved her. And she
had this drunken husband, and he was, he
was drinkin’ way too much. And he wasn’t
payin’ attention to his business, and he was
a chaser—had been all his life. And they
had several children. But she knew what
she had, and she’d thought, “Well, this is
my life,” and she just did the best she could,
didn’t complain, just was a—. I admired her
so much; you know, she could’ve walked out,
but she thought, well, da da da.

She was right in on the negotiations and
all, and—. But then finally [it] was Parker and
I, and so he was highly insulted. So anyway, so
I’m siftin’ there and I thought, “Gee, I’d love to
have that. How can I get it?” And I thought,
and I thought.

So I got this phone call, and it was either
at my office or at home. And it was Gladys
Parker. “Hi, Bill—” (and we were on a Bill-
Gladys, you know). “Hi, Bill. How are you?”

“Oh,” I said, “Gladys, gee whiz, Scherry
and I have thought about you so much. Sure
miss seeing you. And,” you know, “how’s
everything?”

240

William F. Harrah

She said, “Well, really not too good,
Bill.” She said, “You know the story We have
another six weeks to get off of here. And
Parker don’t know what the hell to—really
don’t know what direction to go in. And you
can’t move the thing; it costs as much to move
it as it’s worth. And he’s just about desperate!”
And she said, “I think he’d gladly take your
offer.” But she said, “He’s too damn proud to
call you.” She said, “I’ve asked him a dozen
times to call you,” and she says, “He’d say, ‘No
way will I call that cheap bastard!”’ Arid she
said, “I’m sure if you’ll call Parker, everything
will just go zing.” She says, “I know it’s his
place, it’s his thing, he should call you, without
any doubt. But,” she says, “he’s stubborn; he
won’t do it, and if you will do that,” she said,
“I’m sure we’ve got a deal.”

And I said, “Wow!” I said, “I don’t mind,”
you know. Anyway, I thought about it—so
I didn’t call right then; I waited a day or
somethin’. Then I called. And so I said, “Parker
Lyon.

So he came to the phone. “Hello.”

I said, “Hi, Parker. This is Bill Harrah.”

And he said, “Bill! Gee, it’s nice to hear
from you! I was just gonna call you!” da da
da da da [laughs].

So we made the deal, and it took I think—.
Scherry did a super job ’cause I was—you
know, I had a place to run here. And we
shipped it up on fourteen freight cars, I think
it was— railroad freight cars.

Parker was in the moving business; he
wanted to move it, which we let him do. We
could’ve got—but you know, to be polite,
we did. But we didn’t really trust him too
much—not that he’d steal anything, but he’d
go get drunk. And so we wanted to be sure
we got everything, plus that it was packed
well. So Scherry went down—and I was here,
and she was down there, I remember, for two
or three weeks. I’d go down on weekends or

whenever I could. And she worked—and
loved it— fourteen, sixteen hours a day; and
she was right in there with the packers and
helping them, but also to see that everything
was packed good. And the packers were pros,
but still it didn’t hurt to have someone there
that—you know, to watch it. So things were
just packed perfectly and then shipped up in
the—I think there were several freight cars.
We have I think a tenth of it on display at
HAG, and we have nine-tenths still in storage,
some of which we’ll never use, but there’s
just—I don’t think you could name a thing
in 1860 to 1900 that—wash basins and (what
do they call ’em?)—thunder mugs—what’s
another word for that? Chamber pots.

And this Parker Lyon, Sr.—he was kind
of a dirty old guy, I guess. And he had this
chanter pot collection. And we still say we
have the greatest chanter pot collection in the
world. And he got a big kick out of that, and
his wife just hated it, apparently. It bugged her
that he was collecting these chamber pots, so
he would. Oh, I think there’s a hundred or so
in the collection, and they’re all different, you
know, some of ’em real fancy.

Anyway, we got it here, and then the main
idea as I explained is—which we will use, you
know; we’re on our—definitely working hard
on our plans for the 1-80 now, which we call it.
And part of that will be the—. We’ve thought
a little about it and some of the—. See, we’ve
had the display out there for several years now.
And we’ll enlarge that, and it is great for the
kids and all to go in and see. Actually part of
it was Buffalo Bill’s saddle, and there’s some
real high spots like that.

To add a postscript to that, when we had
some of our car auctions, we also sold some
of Pony Express things and all duplicates. See,
like Parker Lyon, Sr., he’d go in and he’d buy
the whole town, as I said, or so instead of two
so-and-sos, there’d be sixty of ’em. And we,

The Collector of Antique Cars

241

I’d say, they wanted to sell some; and I’d-say,
“Well, I don’t want to miss a bet,” so I got all
the guys that knew anything. Okay—or once
in a while— well, we never sold a chamber
pot ’cause that’s kinda cute. But like a certain
kind of a lamp, and maybe there’s forty-eight
of ’em. “Well, what’s the most?”

“Well, we might use a dozen of them at the
very most in a saloon or somethin’, if we build
one.” Okay, then we had thirty-two excess, so
we would sell them. And we have since sold
enough to pay for what we paid for it. And
we still have— I said we have nine-tenths of
it; we’ve sold some, but I’d say we have more
than half of what we originally bought.

And the funny thing about it was I
invited Parker and Gladys up, because we
sent Christmas cards and kept in touch, and
I knew their kids and—. So I invited them
up to the sale. And they came. You know, I
put ’em up at the hotel, and this and that, and
very friendly, and—. They came to every sale.
And he had his catalog, and he’d keep track
of everything. And then afterwards—and I
thought, “Oh brother, he’s gonna see—” you
know—’cause he knew what we were sellin
it for, and it was ten times what we paid for
it.

And he was enjoying, it just as much—
course, he was on the wagon then; he was a
different man. But he was enjoying it as much
as we were. He said, “Bill, you got seventeen
hundred dollars for that damn thing!” And he
said, “My father paid four dollars for it!” you
know. “Ha-ha-ha-ha!” It was just like he was
gettin’ the money, just—real super guy. Then
she got cancer and died. He’s still around,
but—one of those stories.

Building a Collection

You’ve mentioned your contacts with other
collectors. Who are some of the collectors that

have influenced you, and then you end up
buying their collections?

Oh, like there was Doc Shafer. He lived
in San Bernardino. He started in the—gosh
knows when. He had this place he lived—he
was an old bachelor. He was a dentist and an
old bachelor, and you’d go out to his house,
and he had several acres there, and it was just
full of old cars, and everything else. He was
the kind of person that you’ve probably met

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